Riddle Me A Rhyme
by Wise-One-of-Gotham
Summary: Normal people aren't that great, but Edward found that out a bit too late. What is real, what is fake? Is this second 'chance' a big mistake?  RiddlerxScarecrow
1. Sanity

**Riddle Me A Rhyme**

1. Sanity

_"I'm watching you, Nigma."_

The Dark Knight's words rang through Edward's head again and again. Why did those words bother him so much? It was just Batman. What could Edward expect from the great Bat?

A chance. That's what.

So, maybe Edward had made some bad choices. Perhaps he'd let his mind run away with him... But, Edward Nigma was a _completely reformed _man. Why couldn't Batman just accept that?

Edward never thought about hurting people anymore!...As long as they didn't tread on his nerves. But, really, isn't it true that even sane, normal, average citizens of Gotham, citizens of the world, want to hurt each other every once in a while? The only thing that mattered was that Edward was never going to act upon such thoughts again! He'd embraced his treatment! And, he had been rewarded for it! He didn't think about puzzles anymore! He didn't!

It had been four months since Edward Nigma had been let out of Arkham Asylum on parole. And, he'd never felt more alone or more lost in his life.

Initially, the media had gone on a field day. His face had been in the paper every morning, and every word he had uttered had been taken as a clue for some future crime. After all, no one had truly believed that Arkham could cure anyone. When a month had passed and 'The Riddler' had never shown his face, the media gave up, moving on to bigger and brighter things, like the outbreak of Mr. Freeze. And, the only things that Edward had left were an unexceptional apartment, an unexceptional mindset, and, truly, an unexceptional life. He had some memories; he was ashamed to think of them. He was supposed to be ashamed to think of them. Normal, sane, average citizens weren't supposed to feel proud about hurting people and going to prison.

But, Edward had to admit... Being sane was not as liberating as Arkham's doctors made it out to be. In fact, Edward had never been more miserable in his life. He didn't have money - well, none that was in his 'official' bank account, anyway... But, as long as he was a normal citizen of Gotham, he wasn't supposed to have money stowed away in fake accounts. There was no way he was going to access that illegal money! And, he didn't have a job: who would hire a former super-criminal?

He did, however, have Batman monitoring him. Every single night things made noise outside Edward's room. Whether it be a swish, or a scrape, or a clang, there was always noise. Not much, but it was enough for Edward, who laid awake all night in an ordinary bed with plain white sheets, to hear. And, Edward knew the sounds were always Batman, deliberately announcing his presence. Because, despite the fact that the Bat was the one who insisted upon getting treatment for all of the villains... Batman was the one person who would never, ever be able to believe that people could change.

_"I'm watching you, Nigma."_

Because, despite himself, Batman was sure of one thing: there was no cure for insanity.

And, Edward Nigma knew the exact same thing.

It was just another night in Gotham City. The news was covering a variety of stories... A charity ball... A new fashion line opening from Metropolis... Scarecrow's breakout of Arkham... Bruce Wayne opening _another_ office...

Edward was only half-listening as the news reporter carried on with a story: "...at three o' clock this afternoon. The aquarium had been constructed for scientists at Wayne Enterprises to conduct research on marine life... But, instead, the tanks began to grow cold to the point of becoming solid blocks of ice. Three people who were in the tanks at the time are now in the hospital, one of them in critical condition. Authorities believe that this may be yet another attack by Mr. Freeze..."

Edward groaned, sitting up on his dull, beige couch. _Is this what all the people of Gotham feel like every day? _Did all the normal, sane, average citizens of Gotham City wake up feeling lost, without a purpose, and with such a lack of direction...?

So, why, then, would anyone ever _strive_ for normalcy?

_I can't believe I let them get inside my head._ After all those years of being a genius, of being rich, of being respected and feared, of being dangerous and outlandish, of being... The Prince of Puzzles... Edward Nigma had been reduced to just another man. All because some doctors made him actually believe that life would be better if he were in control of his obsessions.

Edward let out a sigh, standing up. He was dressed in a white dress shirt and black slacks. A tie, without any question marks on it at all, was tied neatly around his neck. His hair was brown again: all traces of hair dye had disappeared from it. No more black hair or red hair. No more hat, either, of course. No more cane shaped like a question mark... He walked out of his apartment building and down the street, receiving only one or two stares from people who thought he looked somehow familiar... But, no one said a word to him.

And, he didn't bother to strike up conversation with any of the people on the street... He walked. And, he walked and walked, with no direction in mind. He had no idea where he would go - better that way, since, as he had discovered, normal people couldn't plan a single thing because it would always blow up in their faces. Nothing ever worked out the way it was planned.

So, there was no logical thought that led him away from the busy streets of Gotham; there was no illogical thought, either. It just happened. It just happened that he walked right into the alleyways, the backstreets where he used to strut about. It just happened that he walked right into Crime Alley.

As a completely lawful citizen of Gotham City, Edward was nothing but a walking target. And, it barely took three minutes of his wandering around the shady neighborhood for unarmed Edward to attract the attention of a few thugs. But, naturally, Edward didn't notice the musclemen until it was too late.

One of the thugs - a large guy with a bald head - grabbed Edward by the collar of his shirt and smiled. "Well, look what we got here, boys. A li'l visitor fer the boss." The man's face soured as he looked at Edward. "Who sent ya?"

"I have no idea what you are talking about," Edward countered. "Now, please, get your filthy hands off me." That request earned Edward a punch in the jaw. He yowled in pain, kicking his legs to put up a struggle.

"Shut up! That's nothin' compared ta what the boss is gonna do ta ya!"

Edward couldn't remember the last time he'd ever been faced by a thug and treated as an inferior. Just a year or two ago, he had been the one _hiring_ those lowlifes and ordering them around. Not long ago, _he_ had been 'the boss'. Why had Arkham made him change that...?

"Ya might 'uz well stop strugglin'. You ain't gettin' outta this alive!" The bald-headed man tossed Edward to his companions, and they started running down the alley, farther into the 'bad' part of town.

_Normal people call for help. _"Put me down! Let me go! Let me go right now!" Edward had asked for help before... Just not from the police. Not from Gotham. But, as he realized he might actually be in danger, he threw away what was left of his pride and cried out, "Help! Somebody! HELP! Any-!" His voice was muffled as one of the men carrying him put a hand over his mouth. Not that it would have mattered. There wasn't a decent soul within hearing distance, anyway.

The thugs stopped and looked around before they entered what appeared to be an abandoned toy factory... Red letters that spelled "Santa's Workshop" were fading on the side of the building. The inside of the place was covered in dusty old machinery, cobwebs, and dirt. Rundown. Definitely not someplace that _The Riddler_ would ever have considered keeping for a hideout.

"Boss! Boss, we're back! We brought ya a patient!"

Edward frowned. _'Patient'? _Not many people would refer to a prisoner as that...

The bald thug looked around the building uncertainly. "...Boss?"

"Yes, Ronald?"

All three thugs jumped as a man appeared from the shadows. Edward turned his head to look at 'the boss', and his suspicions were confirmed. Who else could ever be _that_ scrawny? The Scarecrow stood before them, wearing a mask to cover his face and a white labcoat to cover his freakishly malnourished body. Both of his hands were covered in latex gloves that were stained with a red substance... But, surely it was just fear toxin.

The bald-headed man, Ronald, spoke again, but his voice was shakier, "W-we... brought ya a... patient..."

The Scarecrow placed a hand on the large man's shoulder. His voice was befitting of a doctor. So very calming and proper... "Oh, Ronald, you've done much better than that. You've brought me _four_."

"Wha-," the man started before he let out a scream and threw himself at the ground, clutching his head.

The two other thugs watched their companion go into a fit for a moment, awestricken. But, then, the Scarecrow turned to them, wielding a syringe in each of his hands, and the doctor's voice was gone. Instead, it was a chilling sort of whisper that asked, "_Who's afraid of needles_?"

In an instant, the thugs dropped Edward and turned to run, but it was far too late for them. Each fell to the ground with a needle in his throat.

"_Over the hills we go,_

_Screaming all the way..."_

"...Crane?," Edward asked, half-heartedly drawing attention to himself. Maybe it wasn't the smartest thing to do... But, then again, Edward had lost his genius somewhere along the path to losing his insanity...

The Scarecrow's head turned, and, for half a second, Edward was glad that, of all the criminals he could have been taken to, he ended up in the hideout of Dr. Jonathan Crane. Really, no one but another genius would have been able to recognize him. Scarecrow tilted his head, slowly removing his gloves. "Edward Nigma?" The Lord of Despair put his gloves in a pocket on his labcoat and walked around Edward, obviously trying to study the effects of his toxin on the bald man. "I heard you're finished with Arkham."

Edward nodded, holding his jaw as he sat up. "I am. I'm normal, now. The doctors fixed me."

"Really? Interesting. What would a normal person like you be doing out in a place like this, Edward?"

"I... don't know," Edward admitted, trying his best to ignore the awful taste in his mouth as he said those words. "But, that's okay... It's alright for normal people not to know things..."

The Scarecrow removed his mask before turning to face Edward. "But, it doesn't feel 'alright', does it, Edward?" Jonathan Crane's blue eyes seemed to stare right into Edward's mind. As if he knew everything. Everything. As if he understood. "Do you believe all the things the doctors told you?"

"Yes."

"That's a lie."

"Normal people lie sometimes."

"Do you like being normal?"

"Yes..."

"Do you _like_ being normal?"

"...No. It's horrible."

Crane nodded, satisfied with that answer. "I know the sorts of things they've told you, Edward. I used to be one of them."

"Then tell me why it's not working! Why hasn't anything they've said worked? Why? Why do I feel miserable? Why am I not happy..?"

"Simple. They've filled your head with lies. Lies about 'sanity' and 'insanity'... In reality, neither of those exists. There is no such thing as an 'insane' person. We are all simply who we are. Sometimes our traits just... aren't acceptable in the scope of law and order in society... You aren't happy, Edward, because those people who call themselves doctors have drilled into you the idea that you can change who you are. But, you can't."

Edward listened, fascinated. Something was different about listening to Crane. Different than listening to Arkham's doctors. Back in Arkham, Edward had decided he desperately needed treatment. So, he'd forced himself to listen, to cooperate, to do everything the doctors told him to... And, that's what they'd wanted. But, Crane... Somehow, what he said just... made sense. Edward didn't have to force himself to believe it. It wasn't something he expected to hear, like he'd _expected_ the doctors to tell him to forget about puzzles. No, Crane's words were _un_expected. Yet, they were the most welcome words in all the world. Those words were exactly what Edward wanted to hear.

Scarecrow pulled his mask back over his face then, and he took out a syringe filled with a red liquid. "It's such a shame that they can ruin perfectly good minds so easily," he said, moving toward Edward.

"Wait! No! Crane, please don't!," Edward yelped, trying his best to crawl away from the approaching needle. _Think, Edward, think..._ Normal Edward Nigma would probably have tried to run away. But, if what Crane had said held any merit, there really was no such thing as 'normal' Edward... And, besides, there was no way he could outrun _Scarecrow_... At a dead end, Edward had nothing left to do but to listen to an aching in his head that told him to talk. "You can't kill me, Jonathan Crane! Why do you even want to?"

"I cannot afford to let a lab rat get away, Edward. Surely you understand... I need to know how the toxin affects you..."

"But, you can't!" Edward glanced around the room, trying to think of anything that might save him. "I..." His eyes caught a glimpse of a mural on the wall depicting a group of elves dancing in the snow. "I... have a _cold_!"

"What?"

"Yes, I've got a cold! You can't give me the toxin! What if the sickness affects the formula? What if it amplifies the powers of the formula, leading you to believe that your toxin is strong enough for Batman? And, then, when you administer it to the Bat, it doesn't work, and he sends you packing! Back to Arkham! You _just _escaped yesterday! Is it worth it..._ Jonathan_?" Edward took a few deep breaths, pride suddenly swelling up inside him. His mind... His brilliant mind... Oh, it was _back_! At last!

Scarecrow took a step back, just eyeing Edward for a few moments. "Is that you, Edward? Or is that the _fear_ talking?"

_I know this... I know what to say. I'm a genius! Not 'a' genius - THE genius! I know the answer! I know all the answers! _ "Of course it's the fear, my creepy compadre. But, where would I be without fear?"

Jonathan Crane released a heavy breath, lowering the syringe into an unthreatening position. "Back in Arkham. Or, dead already."

"Back in Arkham?," Edward asked curiously, knowing that his best odds existed only if he could keep the Scarecrow talking.

"If you didn't _fear_ the opinions of other people, you never would have sought 'treatment'. You wouldn't care that Gothamites view you as a deranged, rambling lunatic..."

"They most certainly _do not_!" Edward cleared his throat. "...I mean, The Riddler was never seen that way... Not as a _lunatic_..."

The Scarecrow put the syringe away entirely, and his voice reverted to its high, cold screech, "_ 'Was never'? You speak about The Riddler as if he is something of the past, instead of who you really are_..."

"Well, he is, of course. He doesn't exist anymore. The doctors took him away."

"_They also took away your mind. You got that back._"

Edward shook his head. _How can he possibly know that? _"Minds can change. That's different."

"_Your mind has changed._"

Edward's eyes wavered from the crudely-sewn burlap mask that was the Scarecrow's face. "You might have been a psychologist once, but you don't have any power over me. You don't have the credentials anymore."

"_Whatever you say, Edward._"

"Besides, you don't understand! I've been _good_ for over a year, now. I haven't even looked at a crossword, or a maze, or a decent book..."

"_But, you've wanted to._"

"That doesn't matter! I haven't! That's what matters..."

"_Inside, you know what they've been doing to you... They've been degrading you, Edward... There's no room for a genius in the civilized world. They want sameness. Everyone has to be the same. You fell for their tricks, Edward, but you don't have to keep falling..._"

"No. I'm still a genius. I don't need puzzles. I don't need crime."

"_Oh, but you __**want**__ it, don't you? You desperately __**want**__ the satisfaction of solving what few others can. You __**want**__ to stand out, to rid the world of those who... don't deserve to live._"

Edward grasped at his hair - his natural, un-dyed, normal, dull, ordinary hair - and closed his eyes shut. "It doesn't matter! I can't! I'm not The Riddler! I'm not! He's gone!"

The Scarecrow lashed out, grabbing Edward's forearm. He rolled the sleeve up and pressed his spindly fingers against the skin as if testing the pulse. "_Is he?_"

"I can't bring him back! It doesn't matter if I want to! I'm not a criminal anymore!"

"_But, you are._"

"No! They turned me into this! There's no going back!"

"_You want to go back, though_."

"There's no going back!"

"_Do you want to go back?_"

"I can't!"

"_Do you want to go back?_" Jonathan Crane's fingers pressed harder against the skin on the inside of Edward's arm, nails sinking in.

Edward shrieked, trying to pull his arm away. "Let go!" He practically _heard_ the sound of the Scarecrow's nails piercing through his skin. The tears felt like they were melting his eyes... Crying. Why was he crying...? Weak... so... weak. He was powerless. Absolutely powerless. Just like any average person would be in that situation. And, to think, he'd _wanted _this powerlessness. Not long ago, he had held power... Not only power. He'd had _confidence_. He wouldn't have cried! Not as The Riddler!

"_Do you _want_ to go back?_"

"Yes! I want to! I can't, but I want to! I don't want to be like this anymore..." He coughed, trying to cover up the sob that he knew the Scarecrow would hear.

But, Scarecrow's voice was professional again. "Good. See what happens when you cooperate?" He loosened his hold a bit on Edward's arm. "All I ask for is the same cooperation you gave to the doctors at Arkham. And, my results come in far less time, Edward..."

"Results...?"

"You don't want this miserable existence, Edward. You want to go back to a life of crime; you want to be yourself again. I can help you."

"...Why would you, though? ...Even if you could..."

"Listen closely: I'm difficult to understand. I'm as elusive as a handful of sand. Even if you perceive me, you know me not, before you can tell me what I have forgot... What am I?"

Edward blinked furiously, listening with a pained look on his face. "A riddle..."

"Just a riddle?"

"...My riddle. I've used that one before."

"Indeed you have..."

"You... really are going to help me?"

"Of course, Edward. I'm the only one who _can _help you. As long as you'll allow me to."

"...I want my puzzles back..."

"I can fix your problem quickly, actually..."

"How quickly?"

"Oh, by tomorrow you'll be perfectly fine. And, Gotham City will be screaming about the return of The Riddler."

"Do I have to take more drugs?"

"Actually, on doctor's orders, you are going to have to stop taking all drugs that have been prescribed to you."

"That will help?"

"It won't do any harm."

"Anything else..?"

"Just one thing." The Scarecrow's right hand held Edward's arm in place, and his fingers stretched out the skin in one particular spot... In almost a single movement, Scarecrow's left hand pulled out the syringe again and drove the needle directly into the most visible vein. "_Take this, and call me in the morning_," he rasped as Edward pulled away, eyes wide with surprise. "That will be all for today, Edward."

Edward watched Jonathan Crane stand up and pull out a knife, then walk over to the bald man, who was clutching his chest, unable to cry out any longer... And, then the scene blurred, and Crane disappeared. And, the thug disappeared. And, Edward was watching his father lean over his sleeping mother and slide a knife across her throat, and Edward screamed and no one heard. And, his father ran away, and Edward couldn't move. And, he stayed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed.


	2. Shame

2. Shame

"Is he alright?"

"What?," asked Commissioner James Gordon as he turned around. "...Oh, Bruce. You scared me... Yes, the doctors say he's going to be just fine. You didn't have to come all the way out here to..."

Bruce Wayne put a hand up to stop Gordon from continuing."Relax, Jim. I just stopped here on my way to the office."

The commissioner sighed: once Bruce Wayne decided to be involved in something, there was no stopping him. "If you say so... But, like I said, he's alright. Your life's hectic enough, Bruce. You don't need to concern yourself with criminals..."

"Even the reformed ones?"

"Reformed..." Gordon's voice echoed the word.

"You sound like you don't believe it. Has anyone figured out what happened to him?"

"They're saying it's a panic attack. Dr. Collins found him on the couch in his apartment; she said when she woke him up, he started screaming. Hallucinating."

"Poor guy," Bruce said, looking into the hospital room through the glass at a sleeping Edward Nigma.

Gordon frowned. "I don't know about that. Anyway, the doctors think he might have seen something that triggered it. They're taking him off some of the medicine, hoping that'll help..."

A nurse poked her head out a door, looking down the hallway at the gathering in front of the former Riddler's room. Her face was flushed, and she shouted, "Commissioner, Dr. Adams wants to speak with you!"

"I'd better go, Bruce. Good luck with the new office."

"I need to go, anyway. Good luck to you, too, Jim," Bruce Wayne said as Commissioner Gordon disappeared. Bruce stole one last look into Nigma's room before turning and striding to the elevator. He made his way through the crowd of reporters in front of the hospital and climbed into the backseat of his car, closing the door.

"Everything alright, Master Bruce?"

Bruce looked up at his butler, Alfred, who was in the driver's seat. "I don't know, Alfred."

"Did you find anything out about Mister Nigma's condition?"

"Gordon says they think it was a panic attack."

"You don't think so, sir?"

"No, I definitely think it _was_ a panic attack. But, Gordon says Riddler's psychiatrist found him in his apartment. When I flew by that place last night at twelve, he was nowhere to be found. If he'd seen something out on the streets that caused a panic attack, there's no way he would have made it home on his own."

"Should I have your suit ready when I come pick you up after the interviews?"

"Yes, Alfred. I need to investigate that apartment. Edward Nigma does not have a history of panic attacks - not like _this_, anyway."

"Very well, Master Bruce."

At six o' clock that evening, Bruce Wayne was picked up from the office in a black limousine. At six-thirty that evening, Batman stepped out of the car on an empty street, waved off his driver, and made his way to the apartment complex on 6th Street. He dove into an alley and pulled out his batclaw, aiming it at the top of a building and shooting. He climbed onto the roof of the building to stay out of view and began to run along the rooftops, jumping from building to building.

Batman paused on the edge of the rooftop that overlooked the apartment building; his eyes surveyed the side of the building to locate the balcony of Edward Nigma's residence. Then he shot out the batclaw one more time and dropped soundlessly onto the small balcony.

A voice in Batman's ear rang out as he landed, "Batman, are you alright? Alfred just called."

"I'm fine, Barbara," Batman answered as he placed a hand on the doorknob; the door swung open easily.

"If you're investigating The Riddler's apartment, then be careful. I have a bad feeling about this."

"So do I. The door wasn't locked." Batman took a step through the open door, thinking to himself, _The Riddler is paranoid. There's no way he'd leave a door unlocked._

"That can't be good. Let me know if you need anything. If you need back-up, Robin and I are ready to go."

"Thanks, but I can handle myself. For now." He scanned the small kitchen area but found nothing. Literally nothing. No silverware, no dishes, no food in the refrigerator... Nothing. Batman frowned, even more than usual. Something was definitely not right. He ducked into the small bedroom just to check his hunch, and his train of thought was confirmed when he saw nothing but a mattress on the floor. He put a hand to the ear of his cowl, pressing the button to call the Batcave. "Barbara, look up any and all transactions made by Edward Nigma since leaving Arkham."

"Sure thing, Batman. But, haven't you already been watching him?"

"Yes. Apparently not closely enough."

"Ed-ward... Nig-ma... Got it. Four days after getting out of Arkham, someone bought groceries on his account. Then... Let's see... More groceries... Power bills... Water bills... Oh, about three weeks ago, some money was transferred into his account - not much. Thirty-eight dollars. It was taken out the very next day to buy food. After that... Nothing. His account's empty."

"He couldn't get a job."

"You think he ran out of money?"

"There's no food in this place. There aren't even sheets on the bed."

"Was he... starving? Do you think that's what caused him to panic?"

"That doesn't make sense. He's The Riddler. He would know how to get by..."

"Unless he really is reformed. His Doctor's files from Arkham are pretty adamant."

"Maybe."

"You don't believe he's cured any more than Daddoes, do you?"

"I've dealt with too many like Riddler. Money isn't something important to him. He usually has plenty of it, but he could live without it. Besides, I could see some of the observations that were written in the hospital. Hallucinations. About his father."

"That doesn't sound like a normal panic attack..."

"No, it doesn't."

"Hallucinations... Do you think that maybe he's developed another disorder due to methods of treatment back in Arkham?"

"It wouldn't be the first time. But, no. Something just doesn't add up..." Batman walked into the living room area and examined the couch closely.

"Maybe it's all the drugs they've put him on."

"I don't think so. Most everyone in Arkham is on the same set of drugs - most are on even more than..." The Dark Knight's words trailed off as he caught sight of several pieces of evidence on the ground between the door and the couch.

"Did you find something?"

"What I was looking for. I'm sending for the Batmobile."

"Where are you going, Batman? We'll come with you!"

"No. Tell Robin to go to the hospital and find out what he can about Nigma's condition. And, I need you to find any records you can that include both Dr. Jonathan Crane and Edward Nigma."

"You think Scarecrow got to him?"

"I'm positive. The Riddler's not the type to think that some straw on the ground makes for great decor."

"But, why would he attack The Riddler?"

"That is exactly what I intend to find out." Batman picked up the pieces of straw and placed them in a small plastic bag before he stalked out to the balcony to wait for his car.

"According to some files from Arkham, Riddler and Scarecrow were on mostly the same schedule... They had meals and recreation at the same time..."

"Who else was with them?"

"Um, Harley Quinn, Poison Ivy, The Ventriloquist, The Mad Hatter... A few others. Croc, sometimes - when he was allowed to be."

"Thanks, Barbara. Keep looking. I'm on my way to Arkham." He jumped down from the balcony to land in front of the speeding Batmobile that was approaching. The car stopped in an instant, and Batman took the wheel, steering it away to Arkham Asylum. He swerved around traffic, traveling well above the speed limit through the back roads of Gotham. The Batmobile shot through the asylum's entrance gate and veered to the right to park just in front of the Intensive Treatment building. Batman leapt out of the vehicle as two guards approached him.

"Batman? What are you doin' here?"

"I need to talk to Doctor Leland and some patients."

"I don't know about that; some of the patients are in the cafeteria right now."

"Which ones?"

"Which ones," the guard repeated. "Uh, I don't know. Not The Joker or Two-Face... Rob, do you know?"

The second guard scratched his head. "Ivy's in there, for sure."

"Perfect," the hero said, passing the guards. He made his way around the facility, passing a number of other guards but never stopping to explain himself. By some amount of luck, just as he passed the Visitor's Center, he saw two psychiatrists emerge from a building. "Doctor Leland. Doctor Whistler."

Both women looked up from their conversation to see who had called. "Bat-man," Dr. Leland greeted. "You don't have anyone with you. What brings you to Arkham?"

"The Scarecrow."

"Jonathan Crane? He only escaped two days ago. No one has heard anything from him."

"Surely you heard about Nigma's episode."

"Well, of course. He used to be my patient, after all. Edward Nigma is cured, Batman. If you are here to talk about that, then..."

"I'm not here to talk about him as a criminal. Nigma was attacked by Scarecrow."

"What? That isn't likely..."

"I have evidence. Nigma was taken to the hospital passed out, and every time he wakes up, he's screaming under the influence of vivid hallucinations. I found this straw in his apartment." He took out the bag of straw to emphasize his point. "I'm not here to find out _if_ it happened. I know it did. I'm here to find out why."

"Well, I'm sorry, Batman, but Jonathan Crane's doctor isn't here at the moment..."

"I don't want to talk to him. I want to talk to the inmates."

Doctor Leland frowned deeply, but Doctor Whistler quickly asked, "Inmatez? Vhich inmatez?"

"I'm not sure yet. I want to start with Harley Quinn."

"Ms. Quinzel has nothing to do with Jonathan Crane's plans, I assure you. I can vouch for her: she is doing very well in our sessions," Doctor Leland answered.

"Maybe. But, she still might be able to help me. I need to talk to her."

Doctor Leland nodded. "Very well. I'll get her. Go wait in my office."

Batman followed Dr. Whistler, who led him to Leland's office. He stood against the wall in the room, taking in the scene. A simple desk stood in the center of the room with one chair behind it and one chair in front of it. Another chair was in the corner of the room. A few files were lying on the desk, but before Batman could look at them closely, the door opened and a guard ushered Harley Quinn inside.

Harley pouted upon seeing Batman. "Aww, what's this about, B-man? Mistah Jay leave a runnin' bomb in a gutter an' ya need _me_ to tell ya how to cut it off? Well, guess what, Bats? I ain't talkin'!"

Doctor Leland sat down at her desk and waved the guard off. "No, Harleen. Batman wants to talk to you about something else."

The Dark Knight took a step forward. "What do you know about The Riddler and the Scarecrow, Harley?"

The pig-tailed prisoner shrugged. "I dunno. What's it to ya?"

"It could be important, Harley."

"Well, maybe I could think a little better if I didn' have these handcuffs..."

Batman scowled. "Talk, Quinn."

"About what? Eddie ain't in Arkham no more. And, Professah Crane's on vacation. That's all I know."

"Did you know them when they were here?"

"What is this, Bats? You decide to play a little good cop/bad cop, and _I'm_ the poor, innocent victim?" All Harley received for that question was a dangerous glare, so she cleared her throat. "Fine. Yeah, I knew 'em. Eddie's a good friend o' mine. I knew Professah Crane, too, but not as well. He's only friends with Jervis."

Satisfied that she was talking, Batman continued, "Did Scarecrow and Riddler get along?"

"Well, Eddie's kinda got this problem with... I guess it's called 'being annoying'. Ivy says he talks too much. Mistah Jay says he takes things too seriously. I think maybe it's a little bit o' both. But, anyway, I don't think they really talked all that much. I think it's a shame since they're both so smart... They sometimes played games."

"You think it's a shame?"

"Yeah, I mean, the professah's one of the only people who gets all those riddles..."

"I see..."

"So, what's in this fah me, B? Some shiny new cuffs? Or maybe I could get my hair done!"

"I'll see what I can do." He looked at the doctor. "Bring me Poison Ivy."

Doctor Leland quickly stood up. "Ms. Isley is not my patient, Batman... I don't have the authority to..."

"You're the head doctor in this establishment. I need to talk to her."

"Then you'll have to go visit her cell."

"Whatever it takes."

He vaguely heard Harley say, "Red's not gonna wanna talk to ya, Bat-breath! She's still mad at ya for lettin' Bird-Boy run his bike into that tree," as he left for the cell-block.

The guard on duty stood up when he saw Batman approaching and called out, "Hey, hold up, Batman! You can't go in there!"

"Watch me." The caped hero's eyes narrowed, and he grabbed the keys from the man. The guard swiftly backed away.

Batman paced down the corridor, looking from cell to cell, until he arrived at the one cell that was filled with light from LED lamps. He fitted the key into the door and opened it. Squinting at the brightness, he walked inside. "Ivy. We need to talk."

Poison Ivy stared at him, clutching a potted plant to her chest. "What are you doing here?"

"I just need to ask a few questions. Answer them, and I'll leave."

She pressed her back closer to the wall, eyeing him with distrust. "Hurry, then."

"Why would Scarecrow attack The Riddler?"

"Who wouldn't?," she countered darkly. "He's irritating."

"Did Scarecrow have a particular distaste for him?"

"Scarecrow doesn't have a distaste for anyone - except maybe you. He just doesn't care about anyone."

"You know him?"

"We _have_ been in Arkham for years longer than most everyone else."

"What do you know about him?"

"We both worked at Gotham State University around the same time. He was a freak. No one liked him."

"But, he was brilliant then. How else would he be promoted to head of the department of psychology?"

Ivy paused to pet a leaf on the plant she was holding. "Of course he's brilliant. But, he's a plant-killer!" She cradled the plant as if it was a newborn baby.

"Crane isn't the type to do things for no reason. Why would he attack Edward Nigma?"

"Don't ask me! This is the first I've heard of him attacking Nigma!"

Batgirl's voice on the cowl's communication system caught Batman's attention just before he could ask another question to Ivy. "Batman, are you there?"

He tore his eyes away from the plant-woman and left the cell, locking it behind himself. He retraced his steps down the hallway. "I'm here. What's wrong?"

"Bad news. Dad just called the house. He told Alfred that 'Bruce' might want to know, since he was at the hospital earlier... Riddler's gone."

"Gone?"

"No, not dead. He woke up some time about an hour ago, and the hallucinations had stopped. Dad was taking a break from watching him - he was in the hospital's café. The whole place just blacked out."

"Blacked out?"

"A complete power outage. Even the backup generators went down. The equipment went out a minute before the lights. It's awful. They're releasing the news any minute, now. At least five people are dead from failure of life support. Several people are injured from the initial panic..."

"No..."

"It gets worse. Robin was just allowed inside a few minutes ago. Doctor Collins is dead. Turns out she was suffering from a severe case of nyctophobia. An _unreal_ severity of a case. Apparently, she always carried a flashlight with her wherever she went. But, the flashlight they found next to her body had been emptied of batteries. They think she was literally _scared_ to _death_."

"Scarecrow."

"I did a quick run-through of files having to do with Collins. She used to work at Arkham."

"Let me guess: until she was assigned to treat Scarecrow."

"All her resignation letter says is that she 'unfortunately' had to leave for 'personal reasons' and that she hopes for the 'best' for her patients. He must have really gotten to her."

"He gets to everyone. Because everyone underestimates him."

"I bet she thought she was safe when she left."

"Now, she is. It's the rest of Gotham I'm worried about."

"Did you find out why Scarecrow's after The Riddler?"

"No. I've found reason that The Riddler might target the Scarecrow, but there's no reason for it to be the other way around. It must just be his twisted mind... Now that Nigma's tried to reform, Scarecrow thinks reforming is Nigma's way of hiding. People don't hide if they aren't scared. That fear interests him."

"So, he really _was_ trying to turn good?"

"As much as I believed otherwise, yes, that's starting to look likely."

"He was actually trying to get away from a life of crime... And, that turned him into a target. Poor guy..."

"Don't say that yet. He's still alive, Barbara."

"How do you know?"

"Scarecrow's a lot of things. But, sloppy isn't one of them. He left that straw in the apartment on purpose. He wanted me to be in that hospital when he killed Doctor Collins and kidnapped Edward Nigma... But, instead, I went to Arkham."

"You couldn't have stopped him. No one could have. We didn't know what he was planning."

"I'm going to the hospital to question people. Someone must have seen him. He couldn't have powered down everything from outside."

"I can track Nigma with the device they implanted under his skin."

"Crane will have taken that out."

"But, I can map his whereabouts for the past few days. Maybe we can find where he first ran into the Scarecrow. It's not much, but until you get to that hospital and find something, it's our only lead."

"Alright. Find what you can. I'll call Robin and tell him I'm on my way."


	3. Clarity

3. Clarity

"How are you feeling, Edward?"

Edward Nigma blinked several times as his eyes adjusted to the dark room. _Where am I?_ He couldn't remember much... That dreadful hospital. Was he still there?

"Touchy subject? Alright, we'll come back to that one, then."

Wait, that voice was familiar... "Jonathan Crane?"

"Perfect, the patient is recovering his memory quickly."

"Am I back in Arkham..?"

"No, Edward. You're in my office."

"...Your office is ugly."

"Side effects of the drug obviously wear out as soon as the drug does."

"Side effects...?" Edward sat up suddenly as a memory flashed into his head. "You gassed me!"

"Now, now, Edward, the doctor knows what's best. Do lie down. How are you feeling?"

"Like I want to pick up the nearest object and bludgeon you to death with it!"

"I see your treatment has progressed splendidly."

"Treatment? What are you-?" Edward stopped mid-question as the Scarecrow's words from the previous night echoed through his mind: _"You don't want this miserable existence, Edward. You want to go back to a life of crime; you want to be yourself again. I can help you."_ "You used that fear toxin on me..."

"The fear is only a side effect. It's the cure that is important..."

Edward put a hand to his forehead, trying to soothe his throbbing headache. "You're such a liar."

"A classic case of the pot calling the kettle black."

"Seriously, why did you have to go and do that? My head is _killing_ me."

"It was an experiment. An educated experiment. Whether or not the formula was designed to cure you from your state of closed-mindedness is irrelevant. It worked, after all. Would you like today's newspaper?" Jonathan Crane held up the 'Puzzles & Games' section of the Gotham Gazette.

Edward narrowed his eyes, glaring. Then he snatched the paper and snapped, "Get me something to write with." He took the pencil that Crane offered him and began to write letters in the crossword of the day. "What do you want from me, Crane? You're not a helpful person by nature."

"No, I am not. I honestly don't see the point in solving the petty problems of people. After all, the human race is dreadful in itself. You fix one problem, then a person is grateful for a little while... And, then he forgets all about it and moves on to find another problem. It's a cycle that never ends. People don't have the ability to be satisfied with life..."

"Just as you don't have the ability to be satisfied with your research. That's where you're taking this, right?"

"Hm. Yes, something like that. I simply used you to test a theory."

"What sort of theory?"

"That fear keeps people in check. And, lack of fear is dangerous and miserable."

"And, how did that theory turn out for you?"

"Well. I hypothesized that it was your father's incarceration that led you to believe you no longer needed to be The Riddler. You became The Riddler out of revenge, out of wanting to prove to the world that you were a genius. But, mostly, it was the fear of your father that made you step into the criminal world. You thought that you could become dangerous and that you could make your father as afraid of you as you were of him... You developed a whole list of other fears, but that always remained your most basic. However, you slowly forgot that fear when your father was imprisoned. You thought you had nothing to be afraid of and so you could return to a normal life... But, you never _had_ a normal life, Edward. The Riddler is not a separate entity. He is you. You are him. Yesterday, that was an idea you simply would not hear. After exposure to my toxin - to your most basic, worst fears - you now not only hear the idea, but also you can accept its truth."

"So... you just decided to use me as a little guinea pig, and now I'm... free to go?"

"Don't make me laugh."

"I really don't think I could do that, even if I wanted to."

Crane shook his head. "Probably not. No, in return for my services, I just want you to distract the Bat while I continue my research."

"I guess I might be able to do that..." Edward crossed out the last clue of the crossword and tossed the paper over his shoulder. "So, on a lighter note, did you bring any news from Arkham?" Edward registered Crane's expressionless face. "You know... Any, 'Hi, Eddie! See ya soon!'s from Harley? Or, maybe an, 'I know you stepped on that blade of grass, Nigma. You're on the _list_,' from Ivy? What about an, 'I'm late for tea again; my watch is exactly two days slow,' from Jervis?" He scanned Crane's face again. "...At this point, I'd be happy with an, 'I'm coming to eat your bones!,' from Croc... No one gave you any messages to send to me?"

"I didn't exactly stand up and announce to everyone, 'Tonight at approximately eleven thirty-four, I will be breaking out of Arkham. So, if you'd like to send a message to either Victor Fries or Edward Nigma, both of whom I might run into, then I'll be taking those messages, now."

"Oh, so it was a secret breakout." Edward smiled. "Then there's a chance that I would have gotten those messages otherwise!"

"Certainly. If that makes you feel better."

A short silence followed until... "..._What_ am I wearing?," Edward asked all of a sudden.

"A hospital gown."

Edward looked mortified. "Where are my clothes?"

"How should I know? The nurses probably changed you into that when you were taken to the hospital."

"Oh my God, you mean people _saw_ _me_ wearing THIS?"

"Yes."

"Where are my clothes? I _**need**_ my clothes! Right now!"

Crane answered calmly, "If you are referring to the suit, hat, and cane that you used to wear..."

"What about my gloves? And shoes? And mask? I need those, too!"

"Yes, those were in the fire as well."

"_**FIRE**_?"

"You said you were reformed. What would a normal man need with a bright green suit and question-mark decorated accessories? They incinerated everything. As a celebration of your rehabilitation."

"_THEY BURNED MY CLOTHES_?" Edward's expression was a mixture of heartbreak and hysteria.

"And, how does that make you feel?"

"Like I want to go shoot all the idiots _in_ this city!"

"Marvelous. I believe my work is done here," Crane said, standing up.

"_What_? You're just going to leave me here?"

"That is the plan..."

"Well, plan's changing, alright? You get back here, Jonathan Crane! Or, I _swear_, when I die, I'm haunting you! And, then I'll call Harley, and tell _her _to come back and haunt you! And, then I'll call Ivy, and-..."

"Pamela hates you."

"She hates you more!"

"Alright. I will go somewhere and get you some clothes. In return, I just want you to shut your mouth for one hour. Do we have a deal?"

"Anything green will do for the moment. Not green shoes, though. Purple or black, please."

"You're getting whatever I find."

"Fair enough. I just need clothes that I can wear to go clothes shopping in... But, wait," Edward called, as the Scarecrow again went for the exit, "How do I know you're coming back?"

"You don't."

"_You don't_," Edward mocked after Crane disappeared. "Hmph! You _wish_ you were the genius I am, don't you, Jonathan Crane? Well, you're not! I'm smarter! And, I'll prove it!"

The Scarecrow returned just over a half an hour later to an Edward who was babbling to himself. "I thought I told you to shut up for an hour. It has not been an hour."

Edward looked up, laughing maniacally, "Ah, but you didn't tell me _which_ hour, Doctor! I got you, didn't I? Tricked you! Fooled you! Baffled you! Pulled the wool right over your eyes!" He burst into a fit of giggles.

Crane, not seeming to notice Edward's change in behavior, tossed a bag of clothes on the ground. "Of course you did, Edward."

"Oh, I did! You just don't want to admit it! The great, respected, feared Dr. Jonathan Crane - fooled by simple wordplay because his tiny little brain is no match for The Riddler's!"

Anyone else would probably have been agitated by the childish outburst, but Scarecrow didn't seem to be bothered at all. "Certainly. Now, go change, Edward."

"Alright," Edward replied, much less maniacal than before. "Where's the bathroom?"

"I don't know: I don't live here. I just brought you here for a few hours... Check over there somewhere." He gestured toward the back wall.

"Sure thing," Edward said as he took the bag of clothes and went searching for the bathroom. "Found it!," he shouted before skipping inside. He hummed a tune to himself as he changed into a pair of dark blue jeans. But, the tune quickly faded as he realized a problem. "JONATHAN CRANE!"

A few moments passed before Edward could hear a voice on the other side of the door ask, "What is it, Edward?"

"These pants are _huge_! Are you trying to say something? Are you saying I'm fat?"

"What?," came the initial response. Then Crane quickly added, "No?" Jonathan Crane had never actually been asked a question like that before - which was an odd thing for him. As a psychiatrist, he had been faced with all sorts of questions and even more answers. But, he didn't really know a thing about cosmetic questions... He knew the psychological reasons behind obsessions with appearances, of course... Still, he felt a bit clueless as to his situation.

"Did you even _look_ at the size?"

Now, _that _question Crane knew the answer to: "No."

"I can't wear these pants!"

"Why not?"

"They don't fit! That's 'why not'! I won't wear them!"

The Scarecrow crossed his arms stubbornly. "Then I guess you won't be wearing pants."

"I guess not!," answered Edward, equally stubbornly.

About four minutes of stubborn silence from both sides of the door followed. Then, finally, Crane, not caring enough whether he won the little 'argument' or not, took a deep breath and asked, "What size do you wear?"

"A twenty-eight. Usually I get my clothes tailored, so I actually wear a bit smaller, but they don't make smaller sizes at most places. So, a twenty-eight."

"I'll be back, then... Maybe. If my brain doesn't return to me before that time."

"If you only had a brain~... Thank you!," Edward sang, examining his reflection in the mirror. "God, my hair looks bad."

Crane came back twenty minutes later with the correct size in a pair of vivid blue jeans. He knocked lightly on the door and waited for Edward to open it. "Here," he said when the door opened just enough for Edward's hand to grab the pants and pull them into the bathroom.

"Oh, _Jonathan_, you're so kind." Scarecrow wished silently that he had a dose of fear toxin on hand that he could just spray under the door... As it was, however, he had no chemicals and not nearly enough money to buy the chemicals he needed. He had exactly two doses of the toxin left, but they were back at his hideout... And, they were for emergencies only. Bat-related emergencies. If he used those doses, then he'd be left with nothing.

Edward put on the second pair of pants, which fit him a bit loosely, but they, at least, didn't fall down when he stood still. He buttoned up the front of the black dress shirt that had been in the clothes bag then looked in the mirror again and shook his head.

"Alright, I'm dressed," he announced, opening the door. "Crane?" His eyes traveled around the room. "Crane! Jonathan! Jon-ny, I know you're here!" Edward tapped his foot on the ground impatiently.

"What_ is it_, Edward?"

"Oh, so I suppose I should call you 'Jonny', now? Since that's the only name you answer to after I call you four times!," Edward yelled as soon as he saw the Scarecrow.

"You will most certainly not call me that. I will not answer to that."

"What about 'Jon'?"

"No."

"What's wrong with those names?"

"Nothing. But, neither one is mine."

"Well, 'Crane' is a really ugly name. I don't like the way it _sounds_. It's unpleasant."

"I like it."

"Of course you do. That's probably one of the things that _inspires_ you, right? It makes you feel a little bit more like the Headless Horseman! Ichabod_ Crane_."

"Ichabod wasn't the Headless Horseman."

"You would know; you've probably read it five hundred times. I read it _once _for school, and that was it. I hated it."

"I like that story."

"Are you feeling alright, Doctor? That's _two_ whole things you've said that you like in the past twenty seconds! Anyway, I thought the girl he was trying to marry was awful. And, stupid, on top of that. A stupid, stupid girl."

"I would agree with that... It's not so much the story that I like. Just the character."

"The character of Ichabod Crane?" Edward eyed the Scarecrow, apparently amused. "Would you like me to call you that, then? 'Ichabod'?"

"No. 'Jonathan' or 'Scarecrow' will suffice."

Edward laughed. "Alright. Not something you want to go in-depth about?"

"That story just reminds me of the past. I have no use for the past."

"Ah, I know the feeling... Well, anyway, back to what I was originally looking for you for... Two things: I'll go in order of importance. One: what color should I dye my hair? Red or black?" Jonathan shot him a withering look. "Okay. Black it is. Two: what are your next plans?"

"I don't have any. My options are... limited, at the moment."

"Limited? By what?"

The Scarecrow cleared his throat. "I don't believe that's any of your concern."

"Oh, I get it. You're embarrassed to go out and commit crimes wearing that costume! Don't worry about _that_! Just go hit a fashion show: you'll scare the stuffing out of those people!"

"Financial issues, Edward."

"Money? ...You have _money_ issues? Ha, why didn't you just say so, _Jon_athan? Perhaps I can be of some assistance, since you so _graciously _assisted me... I have plenty of money - well, not I, Edward Nigma, but... I, Kenta Tsukiyomi, am a Japanese _billionaire _who lives in the middle of North Dakota. And, then, of course, I, Vladimir Kozlov, am a multi-millionaire living out in New Mexico..."

"You're Japanese and Russian?"

"Estonian, actually. Japanese and Estonian. My father was Russian, but he and my mother divorced, and I grew up in Estonia. And, I'm only partially Japanese. My great-great grandfather was from Japan. And, the family has only given birth to sons, so the name has carried on. My own mother - a Caucasian American, just like my grandmother and great-grandmother and great-great grandmother - just loves the Japanese culture, so she gave me a Japanese first name."

"Do you have an answer for everything?"

"I'm sorry; have we met? I'm The Riddler." Edward smirked, extending a hand.

"You realize that the entire backstories you've made up are unnecessary, don't you?"

"And, do you realize that you're absolutely no fun to be around? Honestly, you're just barely more tolerable than the Bat-idiot."

"Then why would you offer to help me?"

"Because you helped me, of course - even if it was in your own, twisted way, and you got something out of it... Besides, you're not actually that bad. I just felt like saying you were! Insults are some of the only never-failing joys in life, after all!"

"You take great joy in confusing people, Edward?"

"It's what I do best!" Edward reached forward to dust an imaginary speck from Jonathan's shoulder. "So... Take me to your little hideout, then."

"The deal was that you would distract the Bat for me."

"Indeed it was. But, you want money, don't you? I want a safe place to stay. Where no one - not Batman, Gordon, nor anyone else - can find me!"

Jonathan flexed his gloved fingers. "Are you afraid of someone?"

"I've been out of practice for more than a _year_, Jonathan! Sure, now that I'm back it feels like this is where I belong; sure, this is the real me... _But_, you _can't_ expect me to just hop right back into the game! I've only just become _me_ again today! I need a little leverage... Some advice... Leadership, if you will... And, who better to get it from than the _Scarecrow_?"

"Try The Joker."

"Ha, overrated."

"Two-Face."

"Predictable."

"Ivy."

"Not _nearly_ as gorgeous as she'd like to think she is."

"Croc."

"I'd like my skin to stay _on_ my bones, thank you."

"You'd think of something nasty to say about me if I weren't the one you were talking to, wouldn't you?"

"In a heartbeat. But, as I'm not in that situation, let me just say that I think you're the most horrifying, bloodcurdling, nightmarish supervillain in all of Gotham."

"Flattery is pointless, Edward. Compliments mean nothing to me."

"You'd like me to think that, wouldn't you, Doctor? You're not the only one who knows a thing or two about psychology. I took some classes myself."

Jonathan's face was perfectly free of any emotion. "How lovely for you. As soon as you can name four different titles for the phobia of darkness, I'll take a moment to be impressed."

"Nyctophobia is the most commonly used term. Then there's... Scotophobia. Lygophobia. Achluophobia. I _did_ take several courses in Latin and quite a few in Greek culture and language, you know. All those roots and prefixes aren't nearly as useless as they at first seem."

Jonathan's expression didn't change in the slightest. "I don't care if you live in the hideout. But, you have a tracking device precisely two inches above the wrist in your arm. They always plant one in patients released for parole. If you want to follow me, then I suggest..." He paused long enough to remove a small knife from inside of his glove. "...you do something about that." He held the knife out to Edward expectantly.

Edward blanched to a deathly pallor. "You...?" His eyes shot between the knife and his arm. He swallowed a breath, closing his eyes. He wasn't about to back down in front of the Scarecrow. "Fine. No problem," he said, trying his best to sound tough. "I'll do it." He took the knife in his left hand. Then he positioned the blade over the spot in his arm that Jonathan gestured to and shut his eyes again, tightly. "But, I'm going to expect you to carry me off after I faint."


	4. Sincerity

4. Sincerity

The first words out of Edward Nigma's mouth when he woke up were: "This place is just as ugly as the last place!"

Jonathan looked up from the table, turning his head to see Edward sitting up on the small couch. The Scarecrow had _just _checked on him less than thirty seconds earlier, and Edward had been thoroughly passed out. "You certainly wake up quickly."

"Well, I can't lie around groggily all day - especially not once my eyes have opened and seen the monstrous excuse for a hideout I'm in!" Jonathan returned to his work, apparently ignoring the remark. Edward crossed his arms. "You could at least buy a little paint for the place... Or, I suppose you couldn't. Since you've got the whole money problem going on... Why would you choose _this_ place for a hideout, though?"

"It's abandoned. I don't have to pay for anything, I can escape suspicion by remaining low-profile, it isn't already occupied by someone else... And, I could care less that the walls need to be repainted."

"You mean you could care _more_. That's an awful expression; it makes no sense! If you could care 'less', then you obviously care to some extent! At least say that you '_couldn't_ care less'. Now, that makes an ounce of sense!" Edward took a breath to even out his tone. "Anyway... What is this place, exactly? A factory?"

"A toy factory."

"Again? How many old, abandoned toy factories _are_ there in Gotham City?"

"To be fair, there are different types of toys. This is a doll factory."

"Oh? And, what was that place you were at yesterday - or whatever day it was - when I was taken to to you?"

"The factory that manufactured all toys for a certain company. That company went out of business many years ago."

"I see... Though, I must say, it does seem a bit odd for you to take refuge in these places... Children's toys and games are much more to _my _taste, or Joker's, or the Hatter's... Not really 'Scarecrow-esque' at all."

"Then why on Earth would Batman search for me here?"

"Ah, I understand. You have the Bat out searching all sorts of other places... Old barns out in the countryside, chemical laboratories, haunted houses that are closed for the off-season... That's certainly a novel idea. But, don't you feel a bit odd, making your base in a place like this?"

"Because it's a doll factory, or because it doesn't measure up to your living standards?"

"Hey, I am perfectly capable of living in a dump like this; I survive in Arkham, don't I? But, when I'm on _break_ from Arkham, I prefer to live in a little bit of luxury. That's not a bad thing. I don't understand why you want to live in such filth constantly, in _and_ out of Arkham. Or, is this about money again?"

"You did _ask_ to stay here, Edward."

"Before I _saw_ it..." He faked a cough upon seeing the Scarecrow's body stiffen. "Ahah... Kidding, kidding, of course... So, exactly where is this factory located, Jonathan? Within walking distance of a tailor, or..." Edward paused. "What are you doing?"

"Sewing..."

"You sew?" Edward stood up, wincing in pain as he was forced to move his right arm.

"If I didn't, you'd be missing several inches of skin on that arm. You may be neat as far as your clothes and your environment are concerned, but you are far from neat with a blade."

"Well, I don't use them usually... I don't like to. They're messy."

"If you use one as you do, yes."

"Oh, so you're telling me that when you slice someone's_ head off _with a swing of your scythe... You're saying that's _neat_?"

"Edward, that's only a rumor. No one's ever been able to prove I've done something like that."

"That's not too comforting. That just means that there wasn't enough evidence in court."

"_Or_ that the prosecutor was too _afraid_ to present it correctly..."

"I don't believe _that. _Your toxin's too strong to be risked on an attorney during trial... It'd be obvious to _anyone _that you'd slipped him the drug."

"You honestly believe that I've only created _one_ formula after nearly forty years of work?"

"Forty? Now, don't you think we're being a bit dramatic, Doctor? You haven't been working on chemical formulas since the day you were _born_. And, I mean, I know you're older than me, but you're not _that _old."

"Fine. After nearly thirty-nine years, then."

Edward rolled his eyes. "_'Nearly_' being the key word, there. Your 'nearly' must be a lot different than mine."

The Scarecrow said nothing at first. Then, after The Riddler didn't continue to talk, Jonathan sang quietly, "_Five little ducks went out to play, over the hill and far away... Mother duck said quack, quack, quack, quack... But, only four little ducks came back._"

Edward touched the bandaging on his forearm. There wasn't any blood seeping through it, at least... "Well, thank you for stitching up my arm... The scar's going to go away, right?"

"Eventually, perhaps. Then again, perhaps not. Mine have never gone away."

"Wonderful." Edward lowered the arm, making certain not to let anything - be it the couch or his own leg - touch the wound. "So, what sorts of things do you sew?"

"Everything."

"_Love_ the specificity there, Professor. Not much of a talker, are you?"

"No."

"Yes, the one-word answers do give that away... What are you sewing, now?" Edward stepped gingerly across the floor to look over Jonathan's shoulder.

"A decoy."

"Ooh, I got a _two_-word answer... Now, I feel special." Edward waited a moment then sighed. "I wish you'd laugh every once in a while... Or, at the very least, smile. Just a little." Jonathan only pulled the needle and thread through a small segment of fabric on his 'decoy'. He didn't act like he'd even heard Edward. "Decoy, hm? Like a mannequin? A real scarecrow?," Edward asked, hoping for a reply.

"Somewhat."

"And, we're back to single-word responses..." Edward tapped his foot on the floor. "What time is it?"

"Perhaps you should have sought out The Clock King to ask for help from, rather than me."

"In case you're_ forgetting_, this whole thing isn't one-sided."

"Really, Edward? I brought you back from a life of normalcy, I saved you from that hospital, I went out and bought clothes - even though financing is difficult at the moment - for you _twice_. And, when you passed out, I carried you here. At this point, I am about ready to give you a _decent_ dosage of toxin, study the effects, and then kill you."

"Hey, I'm grateful for all that you've done. _Exceedingly _grateful. But, it's only been two days. Not even that long, really. I _am_ going to help you, too, Jonathan; I'll pay you back a thousand times over! For right now, though, what time is it?"

"Almost eleven."

"In the _morning_? How long was I out?"

"A while. You seem to have accumulated a large sleep debt."

"Oh, perfect... Well, _I_ need to go out and get started on putting together a wardrobe again... Would you like to come along?"

"No."

"We could go shopping for _chemicals_," Edward crooned, highlighting the last word with a wave of his hand. He leaned down to Jonathan's ear. "You can buy _whatever_ you want..."

The Scarecrow didn't move a bit. "And, if it's something you can't afford?"

Edward turned his head away. "Ha, please! As if such a thing exists! Buy yourself a resort on a yacht, for all I care. I could buy _anything_ - well, with the exception of Wayne Manor." His voice turned bitter. "Not because I couldn't _afford_ it but because my real estate agent insists that_ Wayne _would never sell it..." He returned to his original train of thought. "But, that's irrelevant. What do you say?"

"You aren't going to be able to buy much if we go anywhere. You won't be able to carry anything with that arm."

Edward smiled winningly, taking the needle and the fabric from Jonathan's hands and setting them on the table. "No, but I will have my other arm... And, both of yours." He plucked the tall, pointy hat of the Scarecrow from Jonathan's head and set it down next to the sewing supplies. "So, why don't you de-Scarecrow-ify yourself while I work on getting a car? We don't want to be recognizable, after all." Not waiting for an answer, Edward danced across the room and out the door.

Jonathan watched him disappear; the Lord of Despair contemplated locking the door so that Edward wouldn't be able to come back... But, really, that option didn't seem beneficial enough. Yes, Edward Nigma was annoying, but Jonathan Crane was almost never really annoyed. At least Edward wasn't_ constantly _cracking jokes that weren't funny at all - like The Joker had done when Jonathan had worked with _him_. And, Edward wasn't going to blow Jonathan's _brains out _for not laughing at a bunch of awful puns. Actually, in comparison to working with The Joker, collaborating with The Riddler seemed like a delightful walk in the park. Besides, if things didn't work out... At least Edward wasn't immune to fear toxin. With that thought in mind, Jonathan stood up and went to find his disguise-kit. He changed out of his Scarecrow clothes and into a pair of black pants. He was pulling on a red shirt when Edward returned, holding a phone against his ear. Jonathan quickly put on a pair of glasses and slipped on a pair of laceless canvas shoes.

"Thank you. Goodbye," Edward said to the person on the other line and hung up the phone. "Alright, Jonathan, we're supposed to go pick up the car." He treaded around some of the old machinery that was blocking the Scarecrow from view. "Aren't you ready yet?"

Jonathan pocketed one of his emergency vials of toxin and made his way to the door. "Yes. I am."

Edward tilted his head upon catching sight of the casually-dressed Scarecrow. "Do you always wear glasses?," Edward asked, fairly certain that the answer was no.

"Only when in disguise."

"Just checking." Edward studied the glasses for a moment. "They make you look..." He paused to think of the correct word, but, for once, the Prince of Puzzles came up short. "...different."

Jonathan didn't appear to notice the comment. "You went out like that?"

Edward looked down at his arm, which Jonathan was pointing at. "Yes. I told the lady at the phone place that I was bitten by a dog."

"That's going to draw too much attention."

"Well, what do you suggest I do about it?"

"Roll the sleeve back down."

Edward crinkled his nose. "No. That hurts too much if I touch the cut. Plus, it's hard to do with one hand. One of the reasons why I never roll my sleeves up in the first place."

"Well, it isn't recommended to apply bandages _over_ clothing," Jonathan replied simply. "Hold your arm still." He held one hand under the arm to steady it and rolled the sleeve back down easily with the other hand. "There. Was that really such a big deal, Edward?"

"Not for you, obviously, but you're a doctor. You trained for eight _years_ to be able to treat wounds and not disturb them."

"Actually, that was a very small part of my education. A few days in class, at most."

Not wanting to admit that he hadn't even attempted rolling the sleeve down on his own, Edward changed the subject: "Riddle me this... Until I am measured, I am not known. Yet, how you miss me, when I have flown; what am I?"

"Time."

"Yes, and, speaking of time, it's about_ time _we leave! Who knows how long it will take at the car rental place..."

"It didn't take you long to get a phone."

"Well, that's because my phone has a very, _very_ expensive warranty." He opened the door and stepped to the side, bowing dramatically. "After you, Oh Master of Fear." Jonathan walked out wordlessly; Edward followed, closing the door. "You know, it is customary to say 'thank you' when someone holds open the door for you. I suppose doctors aren't required to take any classes in etiquette..."

"I had to take a class in _ethics_. You see how well I paid attention in _that_ class. What makes you think something like etiquette would be any different?"

Edward turned and began walking down the sidewalk. "Here's another riddle for you: I have holes in my top and bottom, my left and right, and in the middle; yet, I still hold water. What am I?"

"Someone who has been shot multiple times, yet, miraculously, none of the bullets ever hit his stomach."

Edward frowned, considering that alternate answer. He couldn't exactly say that it was wrong... "Hmm..."

"Or, a sponge. If you must stick to traditional answers."

"...Not bad, Doctor. Of course, you're still nowhere near _my _intellectual level. But, you're certainly closer than most people. Another riddle?"

"How far is this place?"

"Oh, a few blocks..."

Jonathan nodded. "Alright, then."

"The wise man is sure of it; the fool knows it. The rich man needs it; the poor man has it. If you eat it, you die... What is it?"

"Nothing. Though you did omit a few lines."

"Some controversial ones, yes. I could have said, 'The greatest hero fears it,' but I assumed you'd have a bit to say about that. I suppose you're very well acquainted with riddles." Edward tried to mentally calculate how many blocks they had left to walk. "A word I know, six letters it contains. Subtract just one, and twelve remain. What is it?"

Jonathan watched a group of people across the street. "...'Dozens'."

Edward smiled wistfully. "You know, normally I take great pleasure in making people feel like idiots. Or, should I say, making idiots realize that they _are_ idiots! ...But, it's nice to have an intelligent conversation. In Arkham, I usually only talk to Harley - well, I talk to everyone, but Harley's usually the only one who talks back. And, Harley's nice most of the time, but she isn't exactly a connoisseur of intellectual communication... What are you looking at?" Edward followed Jonathan's gaze. Five people were walking parallel to the two supervillians. Edward looked again at Jonathan, trying to figure out what he was watching them for. "Do you know them?"

"That's Alice."

"Alice?"

"Jervis' Alice."

"Ah," The Riddler nodded in comprehension. "I see. How do you know that's her, though? Have you actually met her before?"

"Not personally. But, her sister is the other girl. I taught her in her freshman year."

"At Gotham State University?" Edward raised an eyebrow. "So, you taught Jervis' Alice's sister, and that's how you know who she is? Hm. They don't exactly look like they belong on this side of town, do they?"

"No." Jonathan continued to stare.

"Are you... worried about them or something?," Edward asked.

"No."

Edward shook his head, still trying to find the solution to the Scarecrow's behavior. There _had _to be some explanation. "Then why are you staring?"

"Because he's staring at us," Jonathan answered calmly.

"What?" Sure enough, the man who was walking next to Alice had his eyes glued to the pair of villains. "...Do you think he recognizes us?"

"I'm a psychiatrist, not a mind reader. He is most certainly hostile, though."

"You don't seem bothered by that."

"If his schedule permits an emergency appointment with the Doctor of Fear, then I shan't question it, Edward."

"Stop_ staring_, Jonathan," Edward whispered fiercely as he noticed Alice turn her head to look at them, as well. "You're going to blow our cover."

"You worry too easily," Jonathan said as he shifted his gaze to Edward.

Edward flushed a light red color. "I do _not_. I just know when to be careful!" He took an interest in the ground, regaining his composure. "And, when three men who are all at least four times your size are right across the street and looking 'hostile', I think you should probably be careful about staring. At least until I get my cane and my pistol. Then you can stare at whatever people you want to stare at - deal?"

"How much farther?"

"Just a few more..." Edward stole a glance across the street - all five people were staring at them. "...blocks." Without warning, Edward grabbed Jonathan's arm and pulled him down an alleyway.

Jonathan scowled. "_Let go of me_." Edward instantly released his arm.

"Sorry. I'm... not on the medicine, anymore. It helps with the... Ahem, paranoia."

"I don't care if you look over your shoulder every two seconds to make certain that no one is after you. Or, if you never drink from a glass that's been let out of your sight, or whatever it is that you do, Edward. I can deal with paranoia. Just_ don't _drag me around."

Edward nodded; he wasn't going to question the Scarecrow's reasoning. He could tell by that scowl that it wasn't anything personal - probably something to do with Jonathan's past... But, the past was off-limits for conversation. So, there was no need to linger on thoughts about that. "If you've got it, you want to share it. If you share it, you haven't got it. What is it?"

Barely a pause to think. "A secret."

"Yes... And, before you ask, I think it's only another block or so." The Riddler took a turn down the sidewalk. "I've told several riddles, now. Why don't you take a turn? Sing me a song..."

Jonathan followed, a thoughtful expression on his face.

"Or don't..." But, just as Edward was sure that Jonathan wasn't going to respond, he heard the Scarecrow's voice.

"_A wise old owl sat in an oak,_

_The more he heard, the less he spoke._

_The less he spoke, the more he heard;_

_Why aren't we all like that wise old bird?_"

Edward grinned as he listened. Yes, he was aware that Jonathan, in his own odd, musical way, was telling him to shut up. But, the fact that he didn't say so outright was promising. That showed progress. In just one day - it hadn't even been a _full_ day yet - Edward had gone from being faintly acquainted with _Crane_ to being almost-friendly with_ Jonathan_. It was a strange, glorious feeling; normally, Edward's relationships worked in the opposite direction. He'd go from being fairly-well acquainted with someone to, well... That person not really speaking to him anymore after a few days. This was different. Much different...

They finally came to a small office building that was labeled, "Deals on Wheels". Jonathan stood outside the building while Edward ran in to fill out the paperwork information he hadn't been able to give on the phone. But, as fate would have it, the first thing he saw upon entering the office was the lady at the front desk - who was wearing sneakers with her grey-blue dress. So, of_ course_, Edward had to march right up to her and tell her exactly what he thought about _that_. Half an hour and fifteen-hundred dollars later - since that, according to Edward, was the price of the rental car plus enough money to buy a decent pair of shoes -, Edward emerged from the building, only to see Jonathan sitting on the sidewalk, chatting with a little girl.

"Jonathan...?"

The Scarecrow turned his head. "Look who finally came back, Susan..." The young girl turned as well, waving to Edward.

Edward half-waved back, giving Jonathan a questioning look. "Where did you find her?," he asked quietly when he got close enough.

"I didn't," Jonathan answered. "She claims that she's seen me before."

"Oh, joy. We're going to get turned in by a six-year old kid!"

"Susan, tell Edward you're not six."

The girl beamed. "I'm not six! I'm five and a half!"

"How exciting," Edward remarked flatly. "Aren't your parents looking for you?"

Susan shook her head. "Nope."

"Are you sure?"

She nodded. "Yep. Mommy's inside..." She pointed to the office.

"Oh, you poor thing!," Edward said, understanding. He placed a hand on her shoulder, looking her in the eye. "Now, when Mommy takes you shopping, I want you to tell her to tell the salesperson that she wants _black pumps_, do you hear me? Black _pumps_. They go with everything. And, when you get home today, I want you to make some paper dolls with those tennis shoes she's wearing, okay? Just grab some scissors and start cutting. And, then, if you get in trouble, just give her the puppy-dog face; I know you know what I'm talking about - all little girls have that face. Understand?"

Susan nodded again. "Mhm!"

Edward waved toward the building. "Alright, now, run along. Jonny and I have to go."

"O-kay!" She waved her hand wildly. "Bye-bye, Ed! Bye-bye, Jon!"

"Farewell, child," Jonathan answered, returning the wave.

As soon as the little girl skipped inside, Edward took a deep breath. "You know, when I saw her out here, I thought she might be trouble. But, it's a good thing I ran into her; I don't think her mother would have remembered what kind of shoes I told her to get. I don't think she'd ever even _heard_ of pumps, by the look on her face... But, children's memories are _golden_. She'll certainly remember! Looks like it's another job well-done by Edward Nigma - making the world a smarter, and more attractive, place, one badly-dressed scatterbrain at a time..."

Jonathan stood himself up slowly, stretching his limbs. "Yes, Batman had better watch out, or the city will decide to start calling you its great vigilante..."

"Well, bad fashion _is_ a crime... Not quite as bad as idiocy, of course. That's always first."

"Naturally." That word didn't allow for any elaboration on the topic.

"So, you're good with kids, now?"

"I have been for a long time. Children - most children - are pure, untainted souls. And, as such, their fears are pure. Children don't have the tainted view of the world that makes people question fear. Children fear without protest, easily, beautifully; but, they fear too much from the world already. There would be no reason for me to try and scare a _child_."

"That... is a bit surprising coming from you, Jonathan. You actually_ can_ care..." Edward observed him fondly. "Don't worry, Doctor; I won't _tell_ anyone."

"It wouldn't matter if you did. I like children, in _general_. I'd still kill a million of them if they got in the way of my research."

Edward shook his head, still holding onto the ten seconds of caring_ potential_ that Jonathan had shown. "Well... Are you ready to go?" Edward handed Jonathan the set of keys he'd gotten from the rental office. "I assume you can drive."

"If I know where it is I'm driving to, yes."

"Well, there's a seamstress who lives in the eastern region of Gotham Estates. I trust her with most of my suits. And, since her cousin is a shoemaker, it works out fairly well. I need to talk to someone about making the form of my cane... I'll program it and such on my own, of course. Once we get all that worked out, I'll just need to stop somewhere and get some hair dye. And, then we can go to wherever you want to go."

"It's going to take us at least half an hour to even make it to Gotham Estates..."

"Longer than that because I'm hungry. We'll have to stop for lunch. There's a lovely Italian place on the corner of 19th Street..."

"Edward," Jonathan started as The Riddler made his way around the building, to the parking garage. "I did not go to school for twenty years to be your chauffeur."

Edward's voice raised in pitch as he shouted back, "No, Doctor, you went to school for twenty years to be in prison! I went to school for _twelve_ to do the same! Maybe that's why _I'm_ the one with the sense of humor!"

Jonathan followed him, not bothering to argue. "Most likely."

"Is that why you never laugh, Doctor? You're a genius because of experience, and _I'm _a genius because of what I never made myself experience!" Edward cackled crazily. "But, besides those facts, besides the fact that no one can match my intellect, we're one and the same, Doctor! We're both geniuses, no matter how we got here! We're the ones that all those other people in the world want to be! Normal people wake up everyday and want to go out and kill all those idiots who make their lives difficult; but, you and I, we're the ones who _actually_ _do_ that! Do you hear me?"

"I hear you, Edward," Jonathan said serenely, quite used to dealing with mood swings like Edward's. "I think people standing on the shores of _Metropolis_ hear you."

"We're the ones who realize that there _is_ no brighter, better tomorrow! That working hard never got anyone anywhere! That _justice_ is just a word! We're the ones who grew up in this city, afraid of everything, afraid of everyone, and, now, we're the ones who are going to strike fear into the amygdalas of every forsaken soul _in _this city! We're terror incarnate!"

" 'We'? Since when have you been working toward a goal of absolute fear?"

"Since the last ten seconds!" Edward continued, "Everyone fears you, and many fear me! By ourselves, we have come so close to bringing Gotham to its knees - only to be thwarted in the final few seconds by someone who just doesn't _understand_! But, think of what we could accomplish _together_! We'll be unbeatable! What do you say?"

"I say that you're struggling from the fact that you still have many hours of sleep that you need to recover. And, also... that hour of silence that I was promised? It's this hour, Edward."

Edward released a short breath, winding down from his spur-of-the-moment speech. He blinked several times as if dazed. "You know, I'm not sure I quite got to my point there, Jonathan... A little too much embellishment, perhaps. What I'm actually trying to say is..."

"One hour, Edward. The time can't start until you stop."

"But, Jonatha-..."

"I am starting to believe that your promises are about as good as any average person's... Just words, never meant to be lived up to."

Edward sighed in defeat. "Very well... my dear doctor. One hour."

Twelve minutes into that one hour, they stopped at the restaurant to eat. Jonathan graciously lifted Edward's sentence of silence for thirty seconds to allow Edward to order, and then the silence resumed. It was forty-five minutes into that hour when the super-criminals returned to the rental car, and, not even five minutes later, Edward was fast asleep.

"Alright, Edward. You've served your hour..." Jonathan looked at Edward.

And, as if he could hear Jonathan even in his sleep, Edward immediately began to sleep-talk, mumbling something about a puzzle... A puzzle that he was trying his best to solve...


	5. Brevity

(I apologize for the lack of updates for this story and "Atychiphobia"... However, I no longer have the summer. School started back, and, shortly afterward, there was a family tragedy... But, I'm still here. Still writing. And, the rest of the chapters shouldn't take such a ridiculous amount of time.)

5. Brevity

"Hello? Dorothy?" The Riddler paced around the old factory-hideout, talking on his phone. "Dorothy, it's Edward. Edward Nigma. I need to talk to you about making a new suit..." He waited, listening. "Yes, I know. That was a desperate decision on my part, and I realize now that it wasn't a good idea at all... However, now, I find myself lacking my wonderful suit. Do you think you could assist me?" Listening. "Well, the usual green would be the best for the jacket. And, two pairs of pants to go with the jacket - the same green for one pair and black for the other. Violet for the vest, a black shirt, and violet gloves - to match the vest. Did you get all that? Perfect. Can you have it done by tomorrow? ...Oh, that's even better! Perfect, I'll pick it up then. Bye."

Edward ended the call. At least Dorothy had answered the phone. That way, it didn't matter quite so much that he had fallen asleep earlier... Edward's eyes darted around the room, taking in the concrete floors and rusty machinery and peeling paint and... Oh, he was going to see his real-estate agent in the morning; that was certain. His pacing continued until he found his way to the table that Jonathan had been 'sewing' at that morning. Jonathan was no longer there, but Edward noticed something that had not been on the table before they'd left to get the car. _That's new... _Curious, he picked the 'something' up. _A doll?_ Indeed, it looked like some sort of doll. It was made mostly of a coarse burlap material and felt like it had been stuffed with straw. A large, crescent-shaped smile was stitched into the doll's face along with two triangular-shaped eyes. Actually, it looked very much like a tiny version of the Scarecrow; a little pointy hat was even sitting on its head! Edward set the doll back down and scoured the area for the missing Scarecrow. Not on the couch... Not around the table... He'd already paced his way around the entire ground floor, so there was no way Jonathan was there. _Must be upstairs._ Edward skipped off up the nearest set of stairs. _Not by the straw..._ He rounded a corner and saw Jonathan somewhat-lying on a cot. Jonathan's long, bony limbs hung off the sides of the cot in a position that looked extremely uncomfortable, yet the doctor was somehow asleep.

"Jonathan?" Edward took a few steps forward, trying to decide whether it would be better to wake him up or let him sleep. On one hand, Jonathan probably hadn't slept in a while and could probably use the rest... But, on the other, he was probably going to wake up with all sorts of cramps if he remained in that position much longer. "How did you even fall _asleep_ like that?" Edward tilted his head, studying Jonathan's face. "At least you don't scowl in your sleep... That would cause premature wrinkles, you know. Though I don't know if they'd be considered premature at your age... However old you are... Riddle me this, Jonathan: what question can one never give an honest answer to?" Edward poked the older man in the arm. "Are you asleep?" The Riddler poked him again.

"_Not anymore_." The Scarecrow's eyes flashed open. "Do you need something, Edward?"

"How do you fall asleep like that? Aren't you going to be sore?"

"No."

"You didn't answer my first question. How can you fall asleep lying down like that?"

"The same way you fall asleep curled up like a ball."

"But, people _can _fall asleep like _that._ Your leg is on the floor, your head is just barely on that cot, and your arms... You're all over the place! That _can't_ be a relaxing position."

"Is that truly the reason you woke me up?"

Edward bit his lip, debating the question in his head. No, of course, that wasn't _why_ Edward woke the Scarecrow up, but... No. Absolutely not. "...Yes."

Jonathan sat up, narrowing his eyes. "Really?"

"Yes."

"You look like you have something else to say."

Edward averted his eyes, mentally cursing the Scarecrow's psychiatric background. "Nope."

"What question _will_ one never give an honest answer to?" For a moment, the tables turned, and _Edward_ was the one who didn't respond to _Jonathan_. "Are you a liar?"

"Creative, Professor. But, faulty."

"Is there a reason you're hiding your thoughts, Edward? Perhaps you're... afraid to tell me what's on your mind?"

"Oh, _please_, Jonathan. Anything that crosses through my mind _must_ be a genius idea!"

"Then what is there to_ fear_?"

"You mean other than all of the basic fears? Fear of the unknown, fear of _change_, fear of monotony, fear of _failure_, fear of being_ alone_, fear of being_ lost_, fear of losing_ control_, fear of controlling too much, fear of _rejection_, fear of _pain_, fear of fear..."

Jonathan watched Edward closely as he listed off the different fears. He noted the slight change in tone during the words. "I assure you that I am not a judgmental person, Edward. As your doctor..."

"You're my doctor, now?"

"I only prescribe medication to patients. And, until I release you from my supervision, you will remain my patient, Edward."

"You mean," Edward said bitterly, "until you kill me..."

"Patients are only put down when there is absolutely no cure for them, Edward. When they are... _resisting_ treatment. I believe in death over a lobotomy any day."

The Riddler nodded darkly. "I'm sure."

"Of course, free expression of thoughts - free association, as Freud would have it - _is_ a crucial part of treatment..."

"Really, Jonathan? You would kill me just because I'm not telling you one little _un-im-port-ant_ thought?"

"Not _kill_... But, measures will have to be taken." The Scarecrow stood himself up. "There is no such thing as 'one little unimportant thought' in your mind, Edward. For people like you - obsessive people - that thought comes up again and again. You think of it constantly, like you think of puzzles and riddles and bats. And, if it wasn't important, you wouldn't be protecting it so strongly."

" 'People like me'?" Edward held his ground, raising his voice. "You really _are_ just like all those other doctors, aren't you? 'People... like_... me_.' So, suddenly, I'm no longer important as a person; I'm just a disorder! A disorder with a _name_! 'What are you afraid of, Edward?' 'Tell me what you're thinking, Edward.' 'Listen to me, _Edward_!' Is that all I am?"

"You want to be different?"

"Yes, I want to be different! Why else would I make such a big deal out of my appearance? Why else would I give out clues before every crime I commit?"

"Edward, as much as it would, normally, intrigue me to listen to this, I did just wake up. And, your voice is _unforgivably _loud."

"You're the one who started this!"

"Actually, you woke me up."

"You started this!," Edward insisted.

Jonathan shook his head. "Very well. If that makes you feel better. And, Edward, for your information, you are practically the epitome of obsessive-compulsive disorder in the psychological world. When I say 'people like you', I am talking about the disorder, but it is a disorder you have basically _defined._ I am comparing others to _you_, not _you _to others."

The Riddler lowered his voice back to a civil level. "So, you _aren't_ trying to degrade me, then?"

"If you consider a comparison to yourself degrading, then, yes, that is exactly what I'm trying to do."

"Apology accepted, Jonathan."

"I didn't apologize."

"Well, you explained yourself - which is certainly not a not-apology."

"That will be all for today, Edward."

The corner of Edward's mouth twitched into a half-smile at the familiar sentence. Arkham wouldn't be so bad if the psychiatrists were all like Jonathan... "So, what's your analysis so far, Doctor?"

"Hm?"

"What do you... _think_ of me?"

"Perhaps a better question would be, _'do _I think of you'."

Edward's smile vanished in an instant. "I see... So, you have no analysis?"

"My professional views will not be shared with patients."

"I'm not _interested _in your 'professional' views." Edward watched the Scarecrow from the corner of his eye, adding under his breath, "It's the other ones I'm curious about..."

Jonathan's doctoral voice continued, apparently unaware of the change of meaning in the conversation. "All my views are professional. I don't waste time with opinions."

"So, you're just apathetic about everything? And, every_one_, as well? What about Killer Croc? He attacked you once, didn't he? You don't dislike him at all?"

"The past is of no use to anyone."

Edward frowned, frustrated. Couldn't Jonathan give a direct answer? Just once? "What about Jervis? You're friends with him."

"Jervis appreciates literature. He understands rhymes and their origins... Their meanings... And, he reads often. As do I."

"I read, too!," Edward responded, a bit more loudly than he'd meant to.

Jonathan stared at The Riddler for a moment - _almost_ surprised by the outburst. "Well, of course you_ read_."

"And, I rhyme things, too."

"No, you 'riddle' things. They're very different."

"No, they aren't! Not really. They're the same. Most of my riddles rhyme. And, what rhyme doesn't riddle?" He studied the Scarecrow's face, hopefully. He was _speaking_ in riddles, but what else could he do? There was something about Jonathan that was just so... different! How could he make the man _see_?

"Do you intend to tell me what you are thinking about, Edward? Because I have far better things to do than to play your games. I could guess at your meaning all day, but the most efficient way to learn something is for someone to simply _tell_ it to you - an idea I often apply to patients. The results are marvelously easier to obtain that way. And, miscommunication is much less likely."

Edward took a long breath. There it was - the moment of truth. Right in front of him. Oh, but how to approach it... "Jonathan, have you ever felt... like the whole world is against you? That you're the only person who has any idea how life works, and that no one understands you?" Edward sat down on the edge of the cot that the Scarecrow had slept on. "Then you meet someone who _can _actually understand - if only he would try. But, he dedicates his time to trying to prove you _wrong_... Making the whole world hate you even more than they already did... Have you felt so - so bitterly alone? And, then, in your darkest hour, you meet someone who... Who doesn't necessarily agree with everything you say, but... He understands, at least. He understands the way you look at life, and he sees the rest of the world the way you do - so differently than anyone else you've ever met." The Riddler looked at the Scarecrow expectantly.

Jonathan followed the short 'story' well: his experience with people gave him an astounding amount of insight into emotions. His favorite thing _about_ psychology was the study of emotion - specifically, fear, but he knew the other emotions, as well. He recognized the feeling in Edward's voice. And, still, a cruel corner of his mind compelled him to ask, "Batman?"

Edward's eye twitched in irritation, and he snapped, "No! He was the first guy in the story! Just a plot device!" He continued hysterically, "My God, I thought you were supposed to be smart, Scarecrow! It's you! I'm talking about_ you_!"

"Yes, I thought as much."

"Oh, really? Then why didn't you just ask _that_, then?"

"I told you. The most efficient way to learn something is for someone to tell it to you. Why should I honestly guess at something, knowing that you will say what I need to know, no matter what I guess?"

"Don't ask me hypothetical questions. I'm not in the mood. You see, _that's_ what I was trying to tell you after we picked up the car yesterday - or, today... Whenever that was. That whole speech... I got so off-subject. I like you, Jonathan."

"I understand that," answered the Scarecrow, not seeming to be repulsed or pleased by the statement at all. As indifferent as usual.

Edward scowled. "That's not really the answer I was hoping for."

"It is the only one you'll get. At the best of times, you are helpful to plans, Edward. And, at the worst, you are a bit aggravating. Usually, however, you're just another patient."

"Ah." Edward swallowed a breath of air. "You don't like me, then."

"Not more than any other inmate of Arkham - and certainly not in the way that you are speaking of."

Edward watched the floor, thinking. Well, events had certainly not gone according to his wishes... But, Edward Nigma was not a man who gave up easily. And, if he didn't give up that night his father tried to kill him... He certainly wasn't about to give up this. "I'm going to change your mind."

"Don't waste your time. I'm not human, Edward. I don't have the emotions that others have."

"You're just saying that because you want that to be true. You want people to think you don't feel anything because it makes you seem stronger." Edward looked up. "But, no one doesn't feel anything! We're _born _with emotions...Riddle me this, Jonathan: What does o-"

"I am not telling you that I've never felt anything," Scarecrow said, cutting into the riddle. "A very long time ago, I _was_ normal. But, that's the past. And, that's dead, now. My heart is nothing but an organ that keeps blood running through my veins - and often I have doubts that it does even that. I don't _have_ a heart."

"So, maybe you don't. That doesn't matter: it's the brain that matters. People just _say_ that the heart is involved in emotion. It isn't! It's the _brain_. And, I _know_ you have one of those, Jonathan."

"Edward. I am not going to argue with you. But, I will tell you once: I am never going to care about you - not in a good way, or in a bad way. And, especially, not in the way that you're hoping for. That is all I have to say on the matter."

"You spend all your time scaring people. But, you're not scaring me out of this. You don't understand how different you are from everyone else I've ever met. And, if you think I'm just going to give up, you're wrong. You are a _riddle, _Jonathan. And, when I discover such a baffling puzzle, such a mind-bending_ enigma_, I don't stop until I have an answer. Until I solve it."

"Is that why you woke me up?"

"Why I woke you up?," The Riddler echoed. His thoughts rearranged themselves in his head until he remembered just what he had been doing before he began searching for Jonathan. "Oh, yes, mostly. Though, I was also going to ask you about that doll you made."

"I don't make dolls."

"Right. I mean, I was going to ask you about that 'small figure representing a baby or other human being, especially for use as a child's toy' that you made."

"Ask the question." Jonathan picked up a pair of tan-colored gloves and began to put them on.

"What's it for?"

"I've told you that already. It's a decoy."

"How is it a decoy? It doesn't look like a real scarecrow! Or anything else that would be a distraction for the Bat, for that matter!"

"I never said that it would distract the Batman."

"No, you never said it in so many words... However, you _did_ tell me that you had no future plans due to low funding. And, if you have no plans, then who else would you be making odd dolls for?"

"At first, no one. But, as I had plenty of fabric and no chemicals, I didn't have much of a choice of things to do, if I wished to be productive."

"Oh? And, _now_, you've got a plan?"

"Do you still need to get your suit?"

"Yes. So, tell me about the plan."

"Then we shouldn't waste time."

"Already called. Pickup's at seven o' clock tonight. Tell me about the plan."

"That's soon. The seamstress must be talented."

"It's called a 'sewing machine'. Something I'm sure you're unfamiliar with, Jonathan, since you prefer to do everything the difficult way - including start a relationship."

Jonathan Crane shook his head. Above all things, Edward was persistent. "_'Relationship?' _That's even more of a stretch than before. You've lost your mind. Again. Perhaps the patient needs an extra dose of medication..." Jonathan pulled a vial of red toxin out of his pocket.

"Avoid it all you want, Jonathan dearest. But, when the time comes, you'll give in. I always get what I want."

"Ah, well, that explains how you landed yourself in Arkham, doesn't it? You always wanted to be captured and sent to an insane asylum?"

Edward stood up, dusting himself off. "Tell me about your plan."

"Did you hear that Harley's escaped from Arkham?"

"What?," Edward asked immediately. "She hasn't called _me_ yet to let me know!"

"Perhaps she doesn't have access to a phone."

"Don't you stand up for her, Jonathan Crane! That girl has no excuse not to call me the very moment she steps off the grounds of Arkham!"

"With all due respect to your inflated, Jupiter-sized head, you are far from the first thing on Ms. Harley Quinn's mind - which pertains to thoughts of The Joker, Joker, The Clown Prince of Crime, and, occasionally," Jonathan enunciated each syllable painstakingly," 'Mi-ster J'."

"That's still no excuse!"

"Just because Harley is your only friend, that does not mean that you are her's, Edward."

"That's not hurtful at all, Jonathan, thank you," The Riddler grumbled sarcastically. But, then he smirked and threw his arm around the Scarecrow's shoulders. "Besides, I have you, now, don't I?"

"You'd be better off having no one."

"Oh, you're not so_ bad_. _I_ think you're just misunderstood."

"Coming from the mind of a deranged lunatic, I'm sure that thought must be incredibly accurate."

"I. am. _not. a. lunatic_." Edward cleared his throat. "Ahem..."

"You would do best to keep distanced from me. For, when the time is right, _I will leave. And, leave you either dead or dying. Screaming. Wallowing in your worst fears..._"

"That sounds lovely, Jonathan. But, you're forgetting that I'm far more intelligent than anyone you've worked with before. I'd never let you get away."

"_We'll see._" Jonathan took a step forward, but Edward stepped with him, almost in sync. "Edward."

"Yes?"

"Remove your limb from my shoulder blade before I remove it from your's."

The Riddler laughed, but he did move his arm. "I have to go try to call Harley, anyway. When do we strike a bank or something?"

"I believe I'll give that information out on a need-to-know basis. And, quite simply, until we're parked in front of the bank, I don't think you need to know, Edward."

"What? But, I'll have no time for a riddle!"

"What a shame."

"Just you wait, Jonathan Crane!," Edward shouted as the Scarecrow walked away. "Two can play at this game! And, when I play games, I always win!" _I always win. Just you wait... I have a plan of my own, Jonny._


	6. Calamity

6. Calamity

"Thanks, Dorothy," Edward said to the brunette woman as he twirled around her living room, admiring his new suit. "It's absolutely perfect!"

"I'm glad you like it. It's always a pleasure to work for you, Edward."

"Isn't it?" Edward stopped his twirling to take a long look at himself in the mirror. "Jonathan, what do you think?"

The Scarecrow, who was sitting on the couch of the large room, never once looked up from his book. "It looks fine."

"You didn't even look!" Edward put his hands on his hips. "What are you reading, anyway?"

"Demian."

"Sounds faintly familiar..." Edward leaned toward the mirror, fixing his hair. "It must be interesting, since you haven't once offered up any comments. And, we've been here for half an hour!"

"This page has the word 'fear' on it four times."

"Ah, of course it does." The Riddler said. "So, Dorothy, do you know any good hatters?" Edward frowned when Jonathan flipped the page of the book at the word 'hatter'. "Preferably of the non-mad variety..."

"No, I can't say that I do," Dorothy answered. "Hat-making isn't really a profession that people go into around here."

"A pity," Edward answered in a careless tone. "Well, we should probably get going. Since I'm sure Cliff will be home soon..."

Dorothy smiled. "Yes, very soon."

"Come along, Jon, darling. We should be off. Places to go, weapons to buy..." Edward strode toward the door. "Goodbye for now, my friend." Jonathan stood up and followed Edward to the exit.

"Bye, Edward!," Dorothy shouted after them. "It was nice to meet you, Jonathan! I hope things work out between the two of you!"

Jonathan scowled, getting into the car, but Edward waved to the seamstress and replied cheerfully, "Thank you, Dorothy! I'll be in touch!" As soon as Edward slammed the door of the car, Jonathan turned to look at him. "What's the problem, Jonathan?," Edward asked, feigning innocence.

The Scarecrow's voice lowered to mimic Edward's, " 'Dorothy, how _are_ you? It's been forever! Oh, I'm sorry: let me introduce you two! This is my _boyfriend_, Jonathan...' "

Edward smirked, taking an interest in the scenery suddenly. "Did I really say it like that?"

"Do you have a death wish, Edward?"

"Why do you ask? Did that introduction bother you? Are you, perhaps, _afraid_ of what people will think if I say that? "

"I'm not afraid of anything."

"Then why would that bother you, Doctor?"

Jonathan took a deep breath, internalizing his fury. He shifted the car into gear, focusing on driving. "I never said it bothered me."

"You implied it. But, it doesn't bother you? That's good to hear. Because that's what I'm calling you from now on."

Jonathan's jaw tightened. "Very well. Edward," he said through his teeth.

"You know, Jonathan, you're much more pleasant to work with than anyone I've ever worked with before. You're actually a very agreeable person." Edward, knowing that he wasn't going to get a response, took out his phone then and dialed Harley's number for the fourth time that day. Ring... Ring... _I swear, if you don't pick up again, Harley... _Ring...

"Hi, it's Harley!"

"No, it isn't," Edward muttered in frustration. The first time he'd dialed the number, he'd actually tried to talk to her answering machine - _before_ the tone. _It should be a law that no one can start the answering machine's message with, 'Hi, it's - insert name here!' It only causes confusion! And, not good confusion, either! _Of course, even if such a law existed, Edward couldn't possibly have expected Harley to care.

"If I'm not answerin' my phone, then I'm probably out with Mistah Jay or stuck in Arkham. If ya'd like to leave a message, wait for the tone." Beep.

"Harley, for God's sake, pick up your phone! I need to talk to you!" Edward hung up his own phone, pocketing it. "Do you think she's avoiding me?," he asked. But, he answered that himself by saying, "No, of course not. It's me, after all. Who would_ want _to ignore me?"

"Are you afraid of being ignored, Edward?"

"Why would she ignore me?"

"Perhaps you tread on her nerves. Or, she's angry that you ignored _her_ for the last year."

"What? When did I - oh... Yes, I'd forgotten about that. Dr. Leland thought I'd do better with treatment if I didn't associate so much with everyone else..." Edward sighed in nostalgia. "Do you remember when we used to play chess together?"

"You and Harley?"

"No. You and I."

"Barely. I never actually played against you. You took over a few times halfway through a game when Jervis' episodes rendered him unable to continue."

"Well, _you _played every day. So, I guess it's natural that you wouldn't remember as well. But, those were the only days that I ever had anything to do in Arkham - other than sit with Harley and listen to her mindless rants about The Joker... You know, I really did relish those few opportunities I got to play games..." Edward shook his head. "Once, I actually mentioned how much I liked my _hat_ to Jervis just because I knew that it would trigger one of his episodes. Just so I would get to play a game. To have a challenge. It was always refreshing to face you - to know that victory was going to be difficult and require an immense amount of thought... Why did you never ask to play against me rather than Jervis? Do you not enjoy a challenge?"

"Jervis is more pleasant company."

"Why? Because he _reads_ and _rhymes_, and I 'only' riddle? You know that isn't fair, Jonathan!"

"There is no such thing as 'fair'. If the world were fair, I would still be a teacher. And, perhaps, a psychiatrist during my spare time. If the world were fair, I would have grown up in a home with both a mother and a father; instead, I got neither. If the world were fair, a woman who 'doesn't want children' would give up her son and her daughter... Instead of only her son."

The Riddler stared at Jonathan, trying to process his words. The past - Jonathan was practically parading facts around about his _past_! They were clues! Clues to understanding the enigma of the Scarecrow, and Jonathan was _giving them_ away! " 'A woman who doesn't want children would give up her son and...' You... You have a sister, Jonathan?"

"...Half-sister."

_Half-sister. His mother gave him up, and he had a half-sister._ "Who raised you?"

"That is unimportant."

"My dad raised me. If you can actually call it 'raising'. He was my legal guardian, anyway, while I grew up. My mother died when I was young. I remember I was happy until she died. Were you ever happy, Jonathan?"

"Such feelings don't have any relevance to life."

Edward frowned. "After my mother died, my father often beat me. Perhaps he'd done so before her death, but it hadn't affected me so much because she would comfort me. But, when she was gone, being beaten was all I knew. He almost broke my leg once..."

"Edward... Are you afraid of death?"

The Riddler tilted his head. Was Jonathan not paying attention to a word he was saying? Oh, he had to be... He was probably just trying to change the subject. "It depends on your definition of 'afraid', Professor..."

"No, it doesn't. Fear doesn't have different definitions. That is what makes it the ultimate. Are you afraid to die?"

"Well, yes, of course. I don't want to die. "

"Then don't talk of yourself and your past. Don't look for pity from others. You don't know pain."

"Excuse me? I grew up afraid to go home from school every day because I knew that, no matter how well I did in class, my father would beat me! He'd say I_ cheated_! And, when I'd cry that I didn't, that I never cheated, he'd hit me and call me a liar!"

"You don't know pain," Scarecrow repeated.

Eyes glinting in annoyance but in curiosity, Edward asked, "And, what do _you_ know of pain?"

"That only people who know true pain never fear death. Because they realize that death is the only way out of pain."

Edward breathed deeply, letting new thoughts roam his head. "Do you think Batman fears death?"

"No," answered Jonathan. "I'm positive he does not."

"Then he must be someone who's really been hurt..." Edward trailed off thoughtfully. "Do _you _have any ideas as to the Bat's identity, Doctor?"

"No specific names come to mind."

"Well, he's obviously rich... Or, very close to someone who is. And, he knows Gotham well... He's been affected by pain..." Edward gazed out the window. "Hey, is that the new Wayne office?" A tall, shiny building stood out against the cityscape of Gotham.

"Yes, I believe so."

"He just keeps building, doesn't he? Hm... Ah, well, where were we?"

"You were having issues dealing with the fact that you don't know who the Batman is."

"I was not having issues!"

"Where am I driving to, Edward?"

"I don't know. But, I'm hungry!"

"Again? We just ate."

" 'Just ate'? Jonathan, I haven't even _seen _food since we stopped to eat Italian after picking up the car last night!"

"That wasn't even a full twenty-four hours ago..."

"And, you didn't order anything, then! We both need to eat something!"

"Why is it any of your concern what goes through my digestive system?"

"Well, since you _are_ my boyfriend..."

"Stop saying that!," Jonathan hissed, looking around as if some nonexistant pedestrians might be able to magically hear Edward.

The Riddler laughed. "A bit jumpy, aren't we, Jonny?"

"I am not. I just wish that you'd stop making things up - like relationships that don't exist!"

"What are you talking about? Our relationship certainly exists! If we didn't have a relationship, we wouldn't be speaking right now, Jonathan."

"If we didn't have 'a' relationship, yes... But, you're not talking about just 'a' relationship. You're talking about something that's in your head. And, I'd prefer it if you would _not_ talk about it at all."

"I'll consider it if you say that doing so will make you like me more."

"I am not a liar."

"Fine. Then I'll just have to stick to winning you over with my irresistable charm!"

"You're a very strange person, Edward."

"Why, thank you. I do try my best to be extraordinary..."

"Most people would stop pressing an issue after being rejected."

"Ah, Doctor, but I haven't really been rejected, have I? You never said that I don't have a chance. You simply said that you don't like me the way that I like you. But, I'll change that soon, so there's really nothing for me to worry about!"

"Actually, I said that I 'can't' like you. Which means that I won't. I will not. Ever. Is that not clear enough for you?"

"Well, I don't mind that so much, since, if you're physically incapable of being attracted to someone, I don't have to worry about anyone else trying to take you away."

Jonathan shook his head, turning the steering wheel to the right. "You have the mind of a sixteen year-old girl, Edward."

"Well, you must be dealing with extraordinarily _intelligent, insightful _young women, then."

"How can you possibly have enough room in that enormous head to care about someone other than yourself?"

The Riddler smiled, watching the street ahead of the car. "Trust me, Jonathan. I manage." The car pulled to a stop at a red light, and Edward stared up at a couple of the huge television screens that decorated the sides of buildings in downtown Gotham. "Why do they always insist on only showing the _news_ on those things? Many more entertaining shows are out there, after all..."

Jonathan stared over the rims of his fake glasses, eyeing one of the screens. "Edward, they're talking about you."

"Well, _of course_ they are. Who _else_ would they talk about? Freeze? Harley? _You_? - No offense, of course, darling."

Scarecrow ignored the remark. "They appear to think that you've been kidnapped."

"What?" Edward leaned forward, scrutinizing the screen through the windshield. A driver behind them at the light laid on the horn - the light _had_ been green for a good four seconds... "SHUT UP!," Edward yelled out the window as Jonathan took his foot off the brakes. The impatient driver responded with a very friendly hand gesture, but neither of the supervillains paid him any attention. The Riddler was too busy fuming, "That's insulting! Me - kidnapped? I can take care of myself well enough!"

And, the Scarecrow was too busy thinking. When Edward finally calmed down enough to listen, Jonathan said quietly, "Perhaps there is an advantage to this..."

"Advantage? How could there be an advantage? They're insulting me!"

"How do you know that woman in Gotham Estates? The seamstress."

"Dorothy? I've known her since high school."

"Would you trust her with a plan?"

"Well, I trust her with my clothes; hardly anything else is as important to me. Why?"

"Gotham City views you as a victim right now. They're searching for you. Call the seamstress and pay her to tell police that she saw you. And, more importantly, that I was there. Armed."

Edward snorted. "Armed with a _book_."

"Do you have a better plan?"

"One doesn't come to mind at the moment, but if I think for a bit, I'm positive I could come up with one."

"I don't have a 'bit'." Jonathan turned the car down an alley. "Call her now. We're stopping to buy weapons."

"And, then what?"

"I don't have to tell you that."

"Ooh, secretive... You know, I find secrets very_ enticing_..." Edward leaned closer to Jonathan.

The Scarecrow pushed Edward back into the passenger's seat. "_Call her_."

"Only if you can answer my riddle... If you break me I don't stop working; if you touch me I may be snared. And, if you lose me, nothing will matter. What am I?"

"The human heart."

"_In_-credible! How do you know all the answers?"

"How do you know all the questions? Ponder that, Edward, while on the phone." The car stopped, and Jonathan opened the car door.

"Wait, what are you doing?"

"Buying a few things."

"You don't have any money!"

No, Jonathan realized painfully. No, he didn't have any money. "Not in any conventiona-..." Before Jonathan could finish making up a response, Edward was out of the car and standing next to him.

"I'll have to come with you. To pay. I need a gun, anyway."

"People will recognize you!," Jonathan protested.

"And, you think they aren't going to recognize you just because you're wearing glasses that make you look like... Like... Like, Jonathan Crane in glasses!"

The Scarecrow shook his head. "You aren't wearing a disguise at all. You're in your _suit_."

Edward looked down at his outfit - he'd forgotten about its impracticality... "Well... So?"

"Stay here and call that girl. Right now."

"How are you going to buy anything without me there to sign off on it?"

"We'll see, won't we? Now, back in the car, Edward. Keep it running. Make the call quick; I'll be back in a minute."

The Riddler reluctantly returned to the car and watched his partner-in-crime disappear down the street. He called Dorothy and explained what he knew about Jonathan's plan to her... "Well, yes, it is very faulty, but you see what I have to work with. I'll triple whatever it is I owe you, Dorothy. Just tell the police that Jonathan's holding me hostage or something... I'm sorry that it doesn't seem well-thought-out: it's not _my_ plan! I don't have time to discuss it with you. Dial the police. Now." Edward quickly hit the 'End' button on his phone as he saw Jonathan appear again, running toward the car. "How are you?" Edward asked pleasantly while Jonathan threw a box toward the backseat and slammed the door, shifting the car into gear. "I assume things went well?"

"The police will be here any minute."

"Well, luckily, _we_ won't be," Edward said, shrugging out of his green suit jacket. "Take a right."

"That will take us directly back to downtown."

"I know where it will take us."

"Then why should I turn?"

"Because you know that I must be thinking up a brilliant plan, and you can't question my intellect." Edward held on tightly to the doorhandle as the car swerved to the right, barely missing the brick wall of an old building. "You actually turned!," The Riddler half-shouted in surprise.

"Only because I'm still thinking," Jonathan muttered, glancing at the rearview mirror. "Any more bright ideas, Edward?"

The Prince of Puzzles grinned. "Plenty! Right again at the next street, then a left onto 8th Boulevard." Edward beamed as the car turned exactly where he'd instructed. "Now, find a place to park." Edward pulled his question-mark tie off, hiding it and his green jacket under the seat. Jonathan slid the car easily into a parking spot and cut the engine off.

"Now, what?"

"Jonathan Crane, are you aware that you are the second-most perfect person on the face of this planet? I can't believe you actually listened to me! I like you more and more the longer I spend with you!"

Jonathan tapped a finger on the gear shift indifferently. "Where do we hide, now?"

"This building. The top floor is my real estate agent's office."

"You certainly trust many people," Jonathan said, getting out of the car. Edward followed suit, stepping onto the sidewalk.

"No, I trust that people like_ money_ more than law and order," Edward explained, leading Jonathan through a pair of glass doors. "Tread lightly on the rug... Not that you have any other option, since I'm not sure you could tread _heavily _on it..." Edward waited for a response. "You know, since you weigh, _maybe_, all of a hundred pounds..."

"Yes, Edward, I understand the joke."

"But, you're still not going to laugh..." The Riddler pressed a button on the wall to call the elevator. "It almost feels like taboo to get on an elevator anymore... After all the things that I've seen people like Harley, The Joker, and you accomplish with the use of them." The elevator doors opened, and Edward walked onto it. Jonathan followed after him and stood quietly in the corner. "To the top floor..." Edward pushed the number fourteen. "Which should be floor thirteen, but it isn't, of course..."

"Due to widespread triskaidekaphobia."

"You're just saying that because it's fun to say. But, it is, isn't it? Triskaidekaphobia~..." Edward put a hand on the railing as the doors closed and the floor began to move. "You'll like my agent. She doesn't have a sense of humor, either."

"So?"

"Right... You don't like people. Well, it's better that way. For me, anyhow. As I said earlier. I don't have to worry about competition... Not that anyone could compete against _me_." Edward took his fingers from the railing, straightening his suit before saying nonchalantly, "Door's about to open." He held out a hand invitingly. "Come on."

Jonathan stalked past him, ignoring the hand - much to Edward's amusement. "Where are we?"

"The top floor. Her office is in that room right there." Edward gestured toward a large, white door. He strolled to the door, knocking on it loudly. " Ms. Carrey, it's Vladimir! Let me in!"

The Scarecrow glanced around the hallway, studying the area. The floor looked like marble... Very expensive. "Edward, we shouldn't be here. Someone is going to recognize us."

"It's just my _agent_, Jonathan. It doesn't matter."

"And, what if she is with someone in there? Or, what if someone comes to check on her while we're in there?"

"You're assuming that people are going to automatically think, 'Hey, it's The Riddler and the Scarecrow!' But, how recognizable do you think we really are without our costumes?"

"You're wearing green pants and a purple vest."

"And? That doesn't scream, 'Riddler!' That screams, 'Eccentricity!' Which isn't a crime. ...Not in this state, anyway."

"Your face is all over the news. For the past decade, if not longer than that, people have been bombarded with pictures of Arkham's inmates. For every escape, every re-capture... By this time, Gotham knows what we look like."

"Then that's all the more reason to talk to Carrey. I'm sure you remember Alice and her friends from the other day. If they didn't recognize us while we were walking down the sidewalk, I'm certain they thought we were familiar. It wouldn't take an hour of being at home, watching the news like usual, and they would see my face or your face on television... It's only a matter of time before police do a mad search of the area where we were spotted. We need to move." The door opened while Edward's fist was still in the air, prepared to knock again. He lowered the fist immediately upon seeing the dark-haired woman in the doorway. "Ah, Ms. Carrey, you _are_ in, after all. I was beginning to think you were," Edward's tone lowered dangerously, "_ignoring_ me."

"Mr. Kovlov, now is not the..."

"May we come in?"

"We?," the woman repeated, adjusting her glasses. She noticed Jonathan looming behind her client. "Mr. Kovlov, you should know that..."

Impatiently, Edward moved past her, into the room - where he was met with a fairly familiar face. A young woman with red hair was sitting in a chair across from Ms. Carrey's desk. The young woman smiled at him before doing a double-take. She seemed to scrutinize his face for a moment before she managed another friendly smile. "Mr. Kovlov, I presume?"

Ms. Carrey reluctantly invited Jonathan Crane into her office and closed the door, finishing her sentence, "I am currently speaking with another client."

Edward hid his scowl behind a false smile. "Oh, that's perfectly fine. We can wait." He held out a hand in greeting to the redhead. "Yes, that's me. And, you are?" She didn't seem to recognize him, at least... So, as long as he didn't let on that he knew her, maybe he could pass as a rich businessman just looking for property in Gotham City... Yes, that would work.

But, Edward hadn't accounted for Jonathan in his little plan.

Scarecrow entered the room with an airy, professional gait.

And, when Barbara Gordon saw him, she couldn't hide the recognition in her own eyes.


	7. Frame

7. Frame

Barbara Gordon flipped through a listing of apartment ads that Eliza Carrey, her real-estate agent had picked out for her. But, Barbara was having an extremely difficult time concentrating while sitting in an isolated room with her agent and two _criminals_. Well, one criminal, for sure. Barbara's eyes scanned over The Riddler and the Scarecrow, who were both sitting on a couch against the wall, waiting for their turn with Ms. Carrey. Edward Nigma certainly didn't _look _like he'd been kidnapped.

"Seeing anything that catches your eye, Miss Gordon?," Carrey asked.

Barbara quickly turned her attention back to the booklet of paper in front of her. "Oh, um, not yet, Ms. Carrey. I'm still looking."

"Take your time," the agent said before turning toward the two men on her couch. "Is there anything in particular you're looking for, Mr. Kovlov?"

Edward instantly nodded. "Yes, I'm in the market for a house. Or, an apartment. Either-or, really."

Jonathan Crane - Barbara was sure he was the Scarecrow, after all - spoke up to say only, "An apartment."

Edward quickly agreed with the pale, sickly-looking man, making Barbara wonder if Edward did, in fact, have a choice. Maybe he _had_ been kidnapped. She knew very well what Scarecrow was capable of... She shuddered, remembering the time she'd watched her own death... followed by the destruction of Batman... All courtesy of the Scarecrow. Barbara didn't like any of the villains, but some were much less harmful than others. The Riddler, for example, was much more tolerable than Scarecrow. Which made her feel all the more sorry for Edward. She could only imagine the horrors that Crane had already induced into Edward Nigma's mind...

Barbara looked up from the stack of papers. "Ms. Carrey, I think I'll have to come back later. There are just so many choices, and I need to talk to my dad first..." She stood up.

Edward jumped up, as well. "Oh, don't leave for _us_. We didn't mean to interrupt at all. We had no idea someone was already in here."

Barbara clutched the papers in her hand more tightly. "It's alright. I really need to go. My dad's waiting for me." She caught the unpleasant light that flashed through The Riddler's eyes.

Edward turned his head toward Carrey but never let his eyes leave Barbara Gordon. "Call Mrs. White when you find a place. She knows how to get in touch with me." He took a step forward. "Now, Miss Gordon, we're leaving, too. Why don't we walk you to your car?"

That was it.

Barbara bolted for the door, digging in her pocket to try to pull out her phone. But, before she could reach it, Crane tackled her, pinning her to the floor. He held a vial of thin, red liquid in front of her face. "Patients who attempt to escape treatment will be severely punished, Miss Gordon."

Barbara elbowed the Scarecrow in the stomach, trying to crawl out from under him. "Let me go!"

Crane sneered, breaking the glass against the floor in front of her face. Then he watched with a sick fascination as her eyes dulled. She shivered and whispered, "Dad? Bruce...?" Scarecrow rolled himself off her shaking form to lie on his back on the ground. His hand was pressed to the left of his stomach.

Barbara could hear words around her. Was she hearing things? In front of her, she could see her dad and Bruce... They seemed to be fighting. But, in the background, she could hear someone ask, "Jonathan, are you alright?" Who was 'Jonathan'? _Dad? No!_ She could see her dad and his men arresting Batman. "Did she hurt you? Here, let me help you up... Don't be so stubborn!" She was watching her father push Robin into a cell with Two-Face. _No, Dad, not Two-Face! _"We'll be going, now. I think about five hundred thousand can make you un-see this, should Commissioner Gordon show up, looking for his daughter... Until a later date, Ms. Carrey." And, then Barbara's father was picking her up. He walked her down a hallway, and they went into an elevator. They waited and waited. An impossibly long time - she tried to talk, but no sound came out - and, her father didn't care - and she was thrown into a cell with the Scarecrow. But, it wasn't Scarecrow... It was her father! It was Batman! It was Arkham! No, it was Crane... No, it was Nigma... Dr. Jonathan _Crane_... No... It was Fear.

* * *

><p>"Holy robbers-in-a-bank, Bruce! You'll never guess what's on t.v.!"<p>

Bruce Wayne put down the pen he had been writing with; he stood up. "I'm guessing it's a bank robbery."

"But, it's the middle of the day!"

Bruce shook his head. "It's got to be The Joker. He must have escaped."

"I can't believe they're just getting the news out! The robbers got away - like, five minutes ago! They were gone before the police even showed up!"

"Arkham hasn't released a statement on Joker yet?"

"Not that I know of. The bank's all over the news right now." Dick Grayson took a step back, watching the living room t.v. from the office doorway. "Hey, they're talking to a bank employee, now!" Dick ran to the television set, watching intently. A bit more slowly, Bruce followed.

A man appeared on the screen, and a reporter shoved a microphone into his face. The man was practically _trembling_ in anxiety, and he stuttered, "S-s-s-s...S-scarecrow..."

Dick shouted, "Scarecrow?," but Bruce hushed him.

The reporter questioned the man, "What was he looking for? Do you know?"

"M-money... What else...?"

"Was there any sign of the missing Edward Nigma? Was he with the Scarecrow? Did Scarecrow mention him?"

The anxious man shook his head. "N-no... J-just Scarecrow... Scarecrow and a few thugs..."

The reporter pulled away the microphone and began to talk to the screen herself. Bruce cut the television off, starting toward the nearest entrance to the Batcave. "I need to get down to that bank."

"So does Robin! But, Alfred's already fixing supper, so-..."

"Alfred will understand. This could be important. Crane might have left a clue for where we can find Nigma."

"We can't fight crime on an empty stomach!"

"You can stay here then, Robin."

"What? No! I'm going!"

Ten minutes later, Batman was waiting in the Batmobile. "Come on. Let's go."

Robin fastened his cape. "Shouldn't we leave a note for Barbara? In case she comes back and wonders where we are?"

"She's had a rough day, Dick. She doesn't need to worry about chasing after us tonight. We'll talk to her when we get back."

Robin hopped into the passenger's seat of the Batmobile and sat still as the car shot off toward Gotham. "Are you going to Arkham tonight?"

"I was planning on it. Before this. Now, I don't know."

"It depends on what we find at the bank, huh? Honestly, this must be, like, party season for Arkham's inmates! Everyone's breaking out!"

"It's certainly not _my_ kind of party."

"Mine, either! It's, like, a great big fear-fest! Uh, Batman..." Robin looked out the window where he could faintly see the Batsignal in the air. "I think someone's paging us."

The Dark Knight narrowed his eyes, turning the car down the next road, heading toward the light in the sky. "It looks like it's coming from Kent Museum..."

"Ya know, we really need to get a different signal for daylight hours. That thing's impossible to see! I bet we can't even see it from the house! It's probably been up for several minutes by now..."

Batman pushed the accelerator to speed the car up - hoping to make up for lost time.

But, as the Batmobile approached the large building, Batman could see the blue and red lights of police cars everywhere. Officers were standing in a group, discussing something; if danger was nearby, the officers would have their guns at ready. Of course. Whoever had been causing trouble at the museum had escaped police.

"Who do you think it was?," Robin asked. "Freeze?"

"Most likely," Batman answered, driving away. He would return for possible clues when the police were gone. More importantly, he needed to get to the bank.

"Looks like we're in for quite a night. All we need now is for The Riddler to reappear - insane as ever - teamed up with Harley. Now, that'd be pretty ann-!" Robin nearly jumped out of his seat in surprise as his phone rang. He picked it up. "Hello? Oh, Commissioner Gordon! Sir! How - how are you?...WHAT?," Robin demanded suddenly. "No, sir, I haven't seen... Where was she last seen?"

Batman frowned, catching on to the conversation.

"Maybe she's still running errands... She probably just lost track of time, or she got in a meeting and couldn't leave yet... Sure thing, sir. Call me if you hear anything!" Robin paused before he hung up the phone. "Barbara's missing."

"Freeze," was the first thing that came out of the Caped Crusader's mouth. But, at the same time, his brain went to both 'Crane' and 'Quinn'.

"You think he's trying to use her blood and organs again to help bring back Lady Freeze? Do these guys never give up?"

"It might not be him. Quinn and Scarecrow are on the loose, too. It could be any one of them."

"Why would they kidnap Barbara?"

"Crane's done it before."

"He kidnapped _Batgirl_, though, didn't he? He didn't know she was Gordon's daughter..."

"He could have looked behind the mask. He was studying her long enough to have time to."

"What about Harley Quinn?"

"No one knows how she thinks."

"Harley Quinn wouldn't kill her, though, right? Not as long as The Joker doesn't tell her to, and Joker's still in Arkham..."

"Right now. There are rumors that he's going to escape tonight."

"What? How are we going to stop Joker from escaping, track down Batgirl, investigate a museum, investigate a bank, find clues about Riddler, _and_ get home in time to watch the season finale of _Krazy Kats_?"

"Sometimes, doing the right thing means making sacrifices."

"Not in the twenty-first century when we have TiVo, it doesn't! I'm calling Al to tell him to record my show!"

The Batmobile pulled to a halt in front of the First Local Bank of Gotham. Several police cruisers were still around the building, and Batman recognized one of the vehicles - James Gordon's car. Batman and Robin made their way into the bank; luckily, most of the media reporters had left the scene to make interviews at the museum. "Jim," Batman called out, spotting the commissioner as soon as he entered the building.

Gordon turned around; he looked pained. "Batman, you're here..."

"What's wrong? Have you found anything out?"

Gordon nodded solemnly, holding out a handful of red hair. "...It was in the vault."

Robin blinked, eyeing the hair.. "Scarecrow's?"

Batman shook his head. "Barbara's." He placed a hand on Gordon's shoulder. "We're going to find her, Jim. And, we're going to find him and send him back to Arkham."

"What does it matter? He'll just escape again and hurt more people," an unfamiliar, male voice echoed through the lobby.

Batman, Robin, and Gordon all looked up at the new voice to see two people who had just entered the building. Batman narrowed his eyes in thought: they looked somehow familiar... Then it hit him. "Alice Pleasance."

The blonde woman, who was silently standing beside a taller, brown-haired man, nodded in greeting. The man shook his head. "Don't you think it's sad that you know my girlfriend by name, Bat? And, why? Because she's constantly under threat of being attacked! Because the judicial system protects the people who hurt Gotham the most."

"If one is unfit to stand a trial based on sanity, the State of Gotham can't press charges."

"What evidence do you have that the Scarecrow's insane?"

Robin glanced from Alice and the man, to Gordon, then to Batman. He knew that Bruce was adamant that all of Gotham's criminals should receive treatment... So, there was no way that argument was going to end well. The sun was beginning to set outside... "Commissioner Gordon," Robin asked, "can I see the hair for a minute?"

Gordon, still somber, reluctantly handed his daughter's hair over. "Can you fingerprint it?"

Robin nodded, taking out some equipment from his utility belt. He cupped the strands of hair in one hand and lowered a special, bluish light over the top of the hair. "Batman!"

Batman turned away from Alice and her boyfriend to listen to Robin. "Fingerprints?"

"No. Definitely not. There's some sort of substance on here. It's glowing in reaction to the light. Look..." Robin moved the light over the hairs again. "It looks like someone tried to draw a shape. I guess he didn't think about the fact that the hair was going to move around when people handled it..."

Batman's glare lingered on the hair for only a moment; then his eyes went to the floor. He reached up to his cowl, lowering the eyepiece that allowed him to see in nightvision. "Someone get the lights." Robin took the liberty of running to the back and switching the lights off. Batman stared at the floor, then the ceiling... Each wall... Nothing. "Where did you find Barbara's hair, Jim?"

"In the vault... Why?"

Batman pushed past him, marching straight to the bank's vault, which was still wide-open from the police investigation. Batman hadn't taken five steps into the room when his eyepiece caught the sight of a glowing substance on the ground... Words. Not just words, though... An address. Batman turned dramatically, walking swiftly back through the bank, passing Gordon with only the words, "I know where she is."

Robin ran after the superhero; he had to throw himself at the car to avoid being left behind. "What's your hurry, Bruce? What do you mean you 'know where she is'?"

"There was a message on the floor. An address. 776 Carroll Lane. That has to be where Barbara is."

"An address? A clue? The Scarecrow doesn't leave clues, usually, though, does he?"

"No," replied Batman. "He doesn't. But, Edward Nigma does."

"You think he left us a secret message so that we'd save Batgirl?"

"He's not that selfless. He probably hopes we'll save him, too."

"Well, we will, won't we?"

"Yes."

Robin nodded. "Doctor Crane's about ready to get back to Arkham, anyway, I think. He keeps stealing patients - a sign that he misses his patients back in Arkham. What was with those two in the bank, by the way? Alice Pleasance?"

"Victim of The Mad Hatter. The man with her was familiar, too; I can't remember his name. We'll look it up when we get back to the manor."

"Good thing we're only fighting Scarecrow. I'm not sure I'd be up for trying to wrestle Croc or avoiding ice beams from Mr. Freeze tonight."

"Don't understimate Crane. If he's involved in something, there has to be some sort of twist."

Robin only half-listened to the warning as the Batmobile made a smooth turn down a dark road. "Well, this place doesn't look too friendly, does it? It's kinda old and decrepit... I wonder if any of these buildings is inhabited."

"776 is. Car: locate the name of building 776 Carroll Lane."

"Calculating," returned a robotic voice. "One match found: Lucy-Loo Doll Factory, 776 Carroll Lane."

"We just passed that!," Robin yelled, turning around in his seat and pointing back in the direction the car had come from.

But, instead of turning around, Batman shut the car off and left it, arming himself with a handful of batarangs. Robin scrambled after him. As soon as the two were in earshot of the building, a glass-shattering scream broke loose from inside. Batman tore into a run, kicking the door in. "Barbara, where are you?" A scream answered him.

* * *

><p>"There was no one else in the building," Robin explained to Commissioner Gordon in the hallway of Gotham State Hospital. "Just Barbara. She was tied to the table with rope, and there was this doll next to her... She'd already been gassed. No one was even around to hear her screams, though! She could have died out there..." Robin stared at the sleeping Barbara through the glass.<p>

Gordon blinked rapidly, trying to hold back the tears - his daughter was safe, after all. "Is is true, Batman?"

"Yes," Batman said. "Edward Nigma might have saved her life."

"And, maybe, in exchange for his own..." Robin sadly concluded.

Gordon wasn't sure that he believed in second chances - Arkham Asylum failed in treatment much more often than it succeeded... But, former criminal or not, Edward Nigma had saved his little Babs' life. And, more than anything, Gordon wanted to thank Nigma for that. Maybe one day he would be able to... If only Nigma could _survive_ that long...


	8. Affinity

8. Affinity

"I'm so glad you decided to actually _call_, Harley. Granted, it was for business rather than just to say, 'Hi, Edward. How's it going? Feeling alright?' No, of course you couldn't do _that_..."

"Ed, I said I'm sorry ten times already!"

"Thirteen, actually," the Scarecrow corrected her.

"Thanks, Professah Crane. _Thirteen _times!," Harley whined, giving The Riddler her most innocent look. "I really didn't know how ta call ya back! Honest! And, Mistah Jay wasn't gonna put any effort inta figurin' out how ta call ya unless it was important! But, as soon as that lady called an' said she'd bought ya a place, I called him right up, and my Puddin' looked ya right up, and I phoned, an' here ya are! All safe and sound and insane as ever - oh, Eddie, we missed ya back in Arkham!," Harley cried, throwing her arms around Edward.

"Hmph. Well... It_ is _nice to hear that someone missed me, at least. I suppose I can let you off with a threat this time... That is, if you can answer a riddle for me..."

Harley's face fell. "But, Eddie, I'm no good at-..."

"Riddle me this," he stopped her. "If you've got me, you want to share me. But, if you share me, you haven't got me. What am I?"

Jonathan held up Demian closer to his face and whispered, rather loudly, "A secret."

Harley tilted her head and half-asked, half-answered, "A secret?"

Edward's face flushed in anger. "You cheated! Jonathan, you just told her the answer!"

"Prove it," the Scarecrow replied serenely, never looking away from his novel.

"Why, you-! I-! AUGH!," Edward roared with frustration.

Harley clapped her hands together, registering the meaning behind Edward's riddle. "You've got a secret, Eddie? Ooh, I wanna know! I wanna know!"

The allure of suspense brought Edward back to his senses, and he straightened up, clearing his throat. "Well... If I told you, it would no longer be a secret, would it, madame?"

Harley crossed her arms. "Don't go all noble and big-wordsy on me, Riddles! You wouldn'a brought it up if ya weren't gonna tell me!"

"Wouldn't I have, though?"

"Eddie!"

"Maybe it's a really big secret, Harley. Maybe I just _can't_ tell you."

"Oh, come _on_," the harlequin pouted. "You can trust me! I didn't even tell Bats about ya when he came askin'!"

"What?"

"Batsy came tuh Arkham a few nights ago, wantin' stuff on you two. Dirt, I guess. I told 'im to shove off."

"Really?," Edward asked skeptically.

"Yeah! Well... I did tell him that there was absolutely nothin' _to _tell, but, still, I told him nothin'!"

"What do you mean there's nothing 'to' tell? I'm Edward Nigma!"

"No, Bat-ears was lookin' for stuff on the _both_ o' ya. Not individual stats. He wanted stuff like what you two talked about, what sorta contact ya had... Yada, yada, yada, ya know?"

"Why would he want to know that?"

"The rume-uhs around Arkham were that Doctah Crane offed ya, Eds. Bats was prob'ly lookin' for motive."

"I'm not dead! Why does no one believe that I can take care of myself? Gotham thinks I've been kidnapped, Arkham thinks I've been killed... God, does _no one_ have faith in intelligence, wit, and charisma anymore?"

Harley shrugged. "I never thought ya were dead. But, then again, I guess it wouldn'a mattered tuh most of us. Ta us, ya died when ya started goin' along with the treatment."

"At least I've been cured of that."

"Yeah, what changed your mind, Ed?"

"A bit more treatment... Some time... A glimpse of reality... And, a... particularly ponderific puzzle..." Unnoticed by the blonde clown, Edward's eyes drifted over to the Scarecrow.

"Wow, well, I think we're all glad ta have ya back! Right, Professah Crane?"

"Oh, yes," Jonathan stated flatly from the pages of his book. "I can finally sleep soundly, not torturing myself with wondering where you went wrong."

"Aww, see, Eddie? Even the Professah was losin' sleep over ya!"

Edward frowned. "He was being sarcastic, Harley."

"Sarcasm, shmarcasm." Harley waved off the idea as an unnecessary detail. "Point is: you're back!" She yawned dramatically then shook her head to try to wake herself up. "Sorry if I'm bein' a bad host. Can I getcha anything? Tea? Tequila?"

"Tea would be lovely," Edward answered, settling into a sunshine-yellow armchair.

"Any kind in particular?"

"That depends on my options. Black would be best. Earl Grey, if you have any."

"That's about the only kind I _do_ have. And, I only keep that around in case Jervis ever stops by! Mistah Jay and I don't really drink the stuff... What about you, Doctah Crane? - I like your glasses, by the way."

"Thank you," Jonathan said. "Bourbon, please."

"Sure thing," Harley sang, cartwheeling off. One of her pet hyenas raised its head in alarm, but then it curled up again and returned to its nap.

Edward eyed Jonathan, hoping the Scarecrow would notice and look up; he didn't, of course. "Psst," Edward said quietly to catch Jonathan's attention. "You drink?"

Jonathan looked over the top of his book at Edward. "Yes," he responded, matching Edward's hushed volume. "Most living things do."

"I _mean_, you drink alcohol?"

"Yes." Jonathan's expression clearly showed just how stupid he thought that question was.

"I'm surprised," Edward said softly. "You don't seem like the type."

"Why are we whispering?"

"So Harley doesn't hear."

"Nothing in this discussion so far has been important enough to whisper over."

"Well, Harley doesn't know our secret..."

"Our secret?" Jonathan's face retained a sort of stillness as he realized what Edward was talking about. Jonathan closed his book. "Edward, you, in your head, don't honestly believe that anything exists_ between _us..." He tried to analyze Edward's bright blue eyes. But, he could see nothing. "...Right?"

"Jonathan, you saved my life..."

The Scarecrow set the book on the ground. "You realize we've only actually _known_ each other all that well for about three days, don't you?"

"And, you _listen_ to me..."

"Oh, for the love of fear, he's delusional." Jonathan leaned forward as if to stand but he only succeeded in hissing at the soreness in his stomach. _That stupid girl. _

"Does it still hurt?," Edward asked. He hopped up, hurrying to the polka-dotted couch Jonathan was sitting on. "Where, exactly, did she hit you?"

"Where my hand is," growled Jonathan. Never again was he going to kidnap women. It never worked out. The idiotic creatures... They were hardly worth experimenting on, even! He'd just shoot them instead... That was much less risky. _Damn Barbara Gordon._

"Do you think she struck a bone or an organ?"

"I don't know!," he snarled. He couldn't help the anger in his voice: he never liked to feel weak.

"Move your hand; let me see... I wish I'd paid more attention in anatomy. What's next to your stomach? The kidneys?"

"Among other things."

"Maybe she hit that, then. Is there a bruise?"

"Not yet, but there will be one tomorrow. And, she didn't hit my kidney; she hit the ribs over it."

Nowhere near ready to accept that his deduction was wrong, Edward quickly compromised, "Well, maybe she hit both. She could've broken your rib, which then hit your kidney."

"If that's the case, then bruises should be the least of our worries. I'll most likely die in a few days."

"You most certainly will not!"

"It isn't exactly healthy to have bleeding internal organs."

Jonathan, of course had only brought up the word 'die' as a sort of dark joke... Edward, however, didn't seem to find it funny at all. "HARLEY!," he shouted.

The Clown Princess of Crime came running into the room, wielding a giant mallet. "What is it? What's goin' on?"

"Jonathan's bleeding internally! You were a doctor! What do we do?"

_You have got to be kidding me_, Scarecrow thought as he watched his two fellow villains scramble around the room in a panic. At worst, Jonathan figured he had a bruised rib. Definitely not a ruptured kidney.

"We gotta operate on him! Stat! Go get the butcher's knife from the kitchen!"

Jonathan's eyes widened. "I don't think that will be necessary..."

"Don't back-talk your doctor, Jonathan," Edward chided him. "Dr. Quinzel knows what she's doing."

"No, she doesn't!," Jonathan screeched, cradling his torso protectively. "She barely got her doctorate! And, she wasn't even a good psychiatrist!"

"Now, now, Professah Crane, don't let the fact that your insides are hurtin' make ya say mean things," Harley said, sitting down on the couch next to him.

Jonathan looked pleadingly at Edward. "Edward, I'm fine! You can't possibly trust her with a knife! She'll unwittingly slice open my spleen or something!"

"Shhh." Edward patted him on the back. "You're not afraid of anything, remember? So, just relax and be unafraid, and everything will turn out well in the end..."

"I'm not afraid of dying! But, I'm not going to sit here and let two idiots cut me open! I'll die promoting my research - fighting the Bat or something! I'm not going to die on account of a stupid accident that can be avoided!"

"Idiots? I am not an idiot, Jonathan!"

"Then don't act like one. Calm down. My rib is bruised... That's all," Jonathan murmured.

Edward's eyebrows furrowed as he puzzled over the words. "But, you said..."

"I wasn't being _serious_."

"You sounded serious..."

"When do I not sound serious?"

"When you sound sarcastic."

"I don't need to be operated on, Edward. I'll be fine with some binding."

Edward stared for a moment into those dark, imploring eyes. Then he turned away. "False alarm, Harley. Do you have bandages?"

Harley laughed suddenly, "'Bandages,' he asks. Do I have any 'bandages'? Ahahahaha, oh, Eds..." She burst into excessive laughter again. "Sure I've got bandages! Hehehe - I'll go get some... Haha-!"

The Riddler shook his head. "How in the world does her mind work?"

"Well," Jonathan started, answering what Edward had meant as a rhetorical question, "Harley obviously finds the mention of 'bandages' amusing. Most likely because she has an overabundance of them. Which leads one to think that she often has a use for them. Because she is often injured. Due to The Joker's many tantrums, I would venture."

"That doesn't make it funny at all."

"Not for you, maybe. Does killing puppies sound like a fun hobby? Of course not, but The Joker and Harley think talking about something like that is hilarious."

At the word 'puppies', Harley's hyenas - Bud and Lou - both looked up at the Scarecrow. One of the animals let out a threatening growl. Edward glanced at the dogs, frightened by the sudden expression of ferocity: he'd almost forgotten the hyenas were even there. Edward quickly sat down on the couch next to Jonathan, hissing, "Don't insult those _things_!"

Jonathan rolled his eyes as the Prince of Puzzles tried to hide himself behind Jonathan's stick-figure-esque body. Of course it was useless. "Edward, they are just dogs. They don't even know what I said. "

"Really? Well, why don't you tell_ them _that?"

"Because only the stupid, compassionate, and foolish actually talk to animals."

As soon as the sentence left Jonathan's mouth, Harley twirled into the room, holding a tray with three cups on it. She squealed in delight to see that her hyenas were awake. "_Babies_! You're up!" She set the tray on an end table and kneeled down to pet the spotted things that had run to her side. "Awww, did my babies miss me? Did they~..._ Did they~_..." Her voice was sickeningly sweet, like she really was talking to a couple of babies.

Jonathan reached over to grab the mug off the tray on the end table. He handed it to Edward, saying nonchalantly, "My point precisely."

Edward took the mug and nodded solemnly. He raised the cup to his lips and took a sip of hot tea. The heated liquid flowed down his throat, filling him with a gentle sort of warmth. Jonathan downed the shot glass Harley had brought, and Edward wondered if the whiskey felt the same as tea... Well, of course it wasn't _gentle_, but was it... warming? "Do you not like tea, Jonathan?"

"I don't dislike it."

Edward watched him with curiosity. "You are such a paradox... Harley," Edward said after a short pause. "We're leaving."

Harley nodded cheerfully. "Alright, Eddie! I'll call ya tomorrow sometime! Hopefully aftah Mistah Jay's busted outta Arkham!"

The Riddler faked enthusiasm at that exclamation. "Fingers crossed!" He stood and set the half-empty mug of tea on the endtable before pocketing a roll of bandages that was on the tray next to a cup of water. Then he turned and offered a hand to Jonathan. "Come on, let me help you up."

"I do not need your help," the Scarecrow answered.

"No, you don't 'need' it. But, there's no reason for you to force yourself to walk when I'm right here, willing to help you. You'll only injure yourself more." Edward grabbed Jonathan's hand. "Now, stand up."

Reluctantly, Jonathan stumbled to his feet, clutching his stomach with the hand Edward wasn't holding. "I'm going to fall," Jonathan warned.

"No, you're not." Edward wrapped an arm around his shoulders, forcing the injured psychologist to share his weight. "I've got you. You're fine."

Harley eyed the two men for a moment before bouncing to her feet. "I'll open thuh door for you guys!"

"Thank you, Harley," Edward said. He took a step forward slowly, trying to make sure Jonathan could keep up. "It would be so much easier just to carry you, you know."

"Don't even think about it."

"How long does it take a bruised rib to heal?"

"It depends."

Edward thanked Harley again as he half-carried Jonathan through the door. "I'll get the car door, too!," she shouted, apparently happy to be helpful. She and Edward both helped Jonathan into the passenger's seat. "Sorry you're feelin' so bad, Proffesah. Get better soon, okay?" Jonathan nodded politely before Edward closed the car door. Harley took a deep breath. "Ya said ya know where the apartment complex is?"

"Yes, Harley, I know where it is. We'll be fine. The Bat doesn't have any clue what kind of car we're in; he probably hasn't even found Gordon's daughter yet. You just worry about Ivy and The Joker. I can take care of myself."

"Well, I know ya can take care 'a yourself, Eddie. But, you're _not_ just takin' care 'a yourself. Ya gotta take care 'a Jonny, too."

"What are you - his mother?"

"No, but ya know how much I worry sometimes. Promise you'll answer when I call?"

"As long as it isn't at some dreadful hour and I'm not busy doing something else. If I don't answer, just call back every half an hour. I'll pick up the phone eventually."

"Be careful, Ed." Harley hugged him. "Talk ta ya soon."

"Alright. Bye, Harley."

The harlequin waved as the car disappeared around a corner, smiling to herself.

* * *

><p>"Sit still," Edward said for the third time as he tried to wrap the bandages around Jonathan's chest.<p>

"I _am_ sitting still," Jonathan replied, trying not to let his teeth chatter. But, it _was _mid-winter, and the shiny, new apartment they were in had only been switched to heating by Edward a few moments earlier.

"Are you really that cold?," Edward asked, half-amused to see how much the chilly air seemed to rattle the Scarecrow. "I bet you wouldn't be if you actually ate like a healthy person..." Jonathan scowled, so Edward dropped the subject - and the roll of bandages. "Oh, fine, then. This isn't helping, anyway. There's only one solution, now!"

Jonathan rested his head back against the leather couch as The Riddler disappeared from sight for the moment. Perhaps he should have killed Edward on that first night. There hadn't really been any reason to keep him alive, other than to use him as bait for the Bat... But, Batman hadn't even succeeded in taking the bait! Yes, Edward should have just been killed... _Too late, now._ Unfortunately, the boy had become too much of a help to kill.

"Aha!," Edward yelled triumphantly. He bounded back over to the couch. "I know how to heal a bruised rib!"

"Really? So, in those thirty seconds that you were out of my sight, you went to medical school and became a doctor?"

"No, I looked it up on Google. Which is basically the same thing." Edward picked up the end of the bandaging and began to unwrap the material from Jonathan's torso.

"Yes, _exact_ same thing... What are you doing?"

"Getting rid of this stuff. You don't need it."

Jonathan crossed his arms, trying to keep himself warm. "It's freezing in here... Can I at least have my shirt back?"

"No. You're going to take a bath in warm water."

"I certainly wouldn't take one in _cold_ water."

"Well, I only say 'warm' because it can't be _hot_. Hot water won't help anything, but warm water loosens the muscles around the area."

"At least according to the internet."

"Hey, this was a very respectable site, Jonathan! You're going to take a bath, and while you do that, I'm going to run to the grocery store to pick up some food and medicene. If we don't treat the injury, you'll be out of commission for around six weeks. And, _that _is hardly an option."

"Very well, Edward. I am not going to argue with the idea of warm water. Or, anything warm, for that matter, at the moment..."

Edward helped Jonathan to his feet with very little protest from the injured supervillain - it was the fourth time he'd been moved, after all. Jonathan was growing used to it. "Now, don't drown yourself or something while I'm gone," Edward said as he led the Scarecrow into the large bathroom.

"I didn't stop you and Harley from dissecting me a few hours ago just so that I could drown myself the next chance I got."

"Oh. Sorry about that."

"You often overreact, Edward?"

"Yes. But, you already knew that, didn't you, Doctor?" Edward stopped in front of the bathtub. "Can you move well enough to go from here?" He smirked, then. "Or, do you need my _assistance_?"

Jonathan sat down on the edge of the bathtub. "I'll be fine on my own." Edward nodded, turning to leave. "Thank you."

Edward froze. "What?" Had he really just heard...? No: he was hearing things. He had to be...

"Thank you, Edward."

No, it couldn't be - it couldn't, but... There was no mistaking it. What else _could_ he have said? "...It's no problem, Jonathan."

When The Riddler returned from the store, the couch was still empty. He frowned as he set the bags on the counter. He muttered a low curse at the sudden pain in his arm: the wound was healing pretty well, though, thanks to Jonathan's stitchwork. Edward wasn't too fond of the scar on his forearm, but at least the police had no way to track him...

"Jonathan, are you still in there?," Edward asked as he made his way to the bathroom door. "Jonathan?" He knocked lightly.

"You didn't tell me how long to stay in."

_Didn't I? Oh... _"You were supposed to get out after twenty minutes."

"Perhaps you should have told me so twenty-two minutes ago."

"Well, get out, now, Jon, I bought some painkillers for you. You need to take one as soon as possible. Then I bought some salve for the wounded area... And, then we need to get some sleep. It's been a long day."

"I'm not getting out."

Edward frowned. "What? Why not?"

"I'll be twice as cold wet as I was dry."

"You'll be fine! You can't stay in there forever!"

"I probably can, actually."

"I bought you some new clothes, Jonathan! You won't be cold, I promise! I turned the temperature up to eighty!"

"Eighty degrees? Farenheit or Celsius?"

"We're in America, Jonathan! And, this isn't a science experiment, so of _course_ it's Farenheit!"

"Very well. Bring my clothes here, then. Or, leave them at the door, if you prefer."

Edward considered both options - especially the first -, but he chose the second, safer one. "Alright, come out to the kitchen when you're changed. Or, call for me, if you need help walking. I'm cooking." The Riddler returned to the kitchen and sifted through the plastic bags, taking out a few cans and arranging them on the counter in a perfect line. "There," he said aloud to himself, satisfied with the alignment.

Jonathan shuffled through the kitchen, around the counter; he sat on the couch, which faced away from the kitchen. Edward raised an eyebrow but picked up a plastic spoon and made his way over to the couch. He pulled the coffee table closer to the couch before setting a plastic cup and spoon in front of Jonathan. Jonathan glanced at him before picking up the cup and studying its contents. Silence. Then: "Spaghetti-O's, Edward? I thought you said you were 'cooking'."

"Well, that's just what people say. I _meant_ I was preparing food."

Cautiously, the Scarecrow dipped the spoon into the cup and tasted one of the circular noodles. "They're cold."

"They are not! They're room-temperature!"

Jonathan set the cup carelessly back on the coffee table. "Throw them away. I won't eat them."

"What? Seriously, Jonathan?"

"Yes, 'seriously'. Do you not even know how to use a microwave oven?"

"Of course I know how to use a microwave!" Edward picked up the plastic cup and carried it over to the trash bag. He picked out another can, murmuring to himself as he set it in the microwave - which, actually he'd never used before in his life. Edward didn't often use such inventions; he had developed and programmed his own electronic oven once upon a time... That was in his Tsukiyomi home, though. Out west. Most days, Edward just ate out or had someone else cook for him. But, how hard could operating such a thing as a simple microwave oven be? It was just an oven! Only smaller... Edward pressed the button that said '30 Sec' and turned away to get a second plastic cup. But, as he struggled to fight with seperating the cup from its brethren, a very loud, very unwelcome POP! filled the air.

"Edward... What was that?"

The Riddler turned slowly before letting out a shriek. He ran to the kitchen faucet and grabbed the water hose, pointing the sprayer toward the microwave. He flipped the water on and sprayed water all over the poor, inflamed microwave. Jonathan peered over the back of the couch, watching as the fire turned to smoke; water flew everywhere, all over the kitchen. When the last bit of orange flame melted into black smoke, Edward released the trigger of the water sprayer and replaced it in the sink.

Edward returned to the couch carrying something in a shiny wrapper. Jonathan let the slightest bit of amusement show on his face as he remarked wryly, "You know, perhaps you shouldn't be talking to Harley quite so much. The genius Edward Nigma... bested by a microwave oven."

"Shut up," Edward snapped. His clothes were splattered with spots of water. "Eat your Pop-Tart."

Jonathan only ate about half of what Edward told him he should eat. But, Edward didn't press the issue and instead only handed him a glass of water and a cylindrical pill. Trusting his own instincts that it wasn't cyanide, Jonathan swallowed the pill. "Is that the end of your medical treatment?"

"No. I have some salve to put on your chest, but I don't know if it will be comfortable to sleep with it on. So, I'll probably wait until morning - er, afternoon - for that." Edward picked up Jonathan's leftovers and carried them to the garbage. "Where are you going to sleep?"

"Oh, the internet didn't tell you that?"

Edward ignored the question. "I'm sleeping in the bed since I bought the place. You're _more _than welcome to join me, of course."

"I will be fine on the couch."

"You might get cold out here all by yourself," Edward warned as he set a password on the thermostat. _6...6...7...5...9._ He then entered the password and pressed an arrow, watching as the digital number '80' dropped to '75', '70', '65', and, finally, '60'.

"Eighty degrees is sufficient to keep me from freezing."

Edward smiled toward the back of the couch, where the unaware Scarecrow was lounging. "Yes, I'm sure it is. Good night, then, Jonathan. Just remember: the offer's still open..."

"Good _night_, Edward," Jonathan said impatiently. He laid his head back against the arm of the leather couch, closing his eyes...

And, then the air conditioning cut on.

Jonathan's eyes shot open as the vent on the ceiling above him suddenly puffed out a cloud of cold air. He could almost _see_ the snowflakes forming in the bitter wind that lashed against his face. _Edward._ Jonathan carefully pulled himself to his feet and staggered over to the thermostat behind the couch. His arms were pressed tightly against his torso in an effort to keep his body warm; it was no use, though. He didn't have more than a single pound of body fat. If that... He raised a shaky finger up to the button on the thermostat and pressed the upward arrow until the '60' changed to '85'. But, the air didn't go away. And, as soon as Jonathan's finger left the button, the number returned to '60'. _No!_ He might as well have been stranded in the middle of a blizzard, as far as he was concerned...

Edward was slipping into a cotton nightshirt - he preferred silk, but cotton would do until he could special-order pajamas - when the door to the bedroom opened and Jonathan hobbled inside. Edward glanced at himself in the mirror, adjusting the shirt a bit. He wasn't too fond of the polka-dotted pajama pants, either. But, they would do. "That didn't take nearly as long as I thought it would," he commented as Jonathan collapsed onto the bed, curling up underneath the covers, still shaking from the cold. Edward smiled fondly as he climbed into bed as well. "Still cold, Jonathan?"

The Scarecrow barely moved his head to shoot a glare at his tormentor. "Bastard." But, his voice wavered and his body shivered, as if Jonathan was really about to _die_ from the cool air.

"Does it bother you that much, sweetheart?" Edward reached out, and his hand brushed against Jonathan's icy neck. "God, you _are_ freezing," Edward whispered, surprised. He'd assumed that Jonathan didn't like the cold, that Jonathan was very uncomfortable in the cold - not that Jonathan physically could not _cope_ with the cold. "Come here," Edward breathed soothingly, moving closer to him. Edward wrapped both arms around Jonathan's frozen, skeletal torso and pulled the blankets up around the two of them.

"You will die for this in the morning."

Edward laughed at the threat that came through chattering teeth. "Yes, I know."


	9. Ambiguity

9. Ambiguity

Jonathan woke up pleasantly to the sound of a scream. But, the scream quickly grew unpleasant as he realized that it was coming from The Riddler, along with some shrill words that sounded like: "We're under attack! No! I swear I didn't mean to melt that ice cube! I'm sorry! Go away!"

The Scarecrow rolled out of bed, landing clumsily on his feet. He tottered toward the living room to see Edward shrieking at the window. "Edward, what is going on?"

"Look! It's Freeze Toxin!"

Jonathan glanced out the window. "Toxin? There is such a thing as _Joker_ Toxin. _Fear_ toxin. But, _that_, Edward, is called 'snow'. And, since it is late November, it isn't all that out of place."

The shrieking stopped. "It's November already?"

"Yes. Almost December."

Edward looked puzzled. "The last time I saw a date, it was July."

"Doesn't your phone have the date and time?"

"Well, yes, but I never read that... Did we miss Thanksgiving?"

"Today is the thirtieth. Thanksgiving was last week."

"We did miss it, then."

"_You_ missed it, maybe. I was breaking out of Arkham that night."

Edward frowned, thinking to himself for a moment; he couldn't really recall what he might have been doing that night. "Well, how are you this morning?"

"It doesn't hurt as much. I can walk on my own just fine."

"Do you feel like going shopping for those chemicals we were supposed to get a few days ago? Or, would you rather just write everything down that you need?"

"I'm surprised you're actually giving me a second option. The other day you were practically begging me to go with you."

"Yes," Edward paused for a moment. "But I'm meeting Harley today. Ivy broke out last night."

Jonathan raised an eyebrow. "Rather than The Joker?"

"Apparently. I guess the rumor got out that Joker was going to try and break, so they centralized security on him. Making it much easier for Pamela. Anyway, we were going to go get lunch somewhere and then go shopping. I thought I could stop and pick up the chemicals and whatever else you want, since I figured you probably wouldn't want to go with the three of us."

"How oddly thoughtful of you."

"Hey, I can _be_ thoughtful! I turned the thermostat up again this morning, in case you haven't noticed."

"Oh, yes: thank you for reminding me. I'm supposed to kill you, am I not?"

"No, no," Edward said as he pretended to try to remember. "I don't recall you ever saying that."

Jonathan frowned - though Edward couldn't tell whether it was a true frown or simply a habitual one. "Really? Because I happen to have an impeccable memory."

"No, you definitely didn't say that, Doctor. I'm afraid you're losing it." Edward stiffened as he saw the glint flit through the Scarecrow's eyes. Edward mentally cursed himself. _'Afraid'? Really? Jonathan's right: I really do need to distance myself some from Harley. I am _not _becoming a bubble-head for friendship..._

"Afraid, you say?"

"Yes, it's a figure of speech, dear."

"You're afraid I'm losing my memory?"

_Of course he's going to ignore anything I say that's not about fear, now_, Edward thought darkly. "No, I am not afraid that you are losing your memory."

"Then what _are_ you afraid of?"

"Bad fashion, idiocy, the falling stock market-"

"The idea of being wrong, and, more importantly, your father. Is that how you were going to finish?"

"Maybe - if I'd been planning on finishing my list _honestly_... _I _was going to say, 'The falling stock market, puppies without homes, and world wars.' "

"So, you have a fear of the truth, as well, then? Or, is it, perhaps, a fear of being judged?"

"You know, Professor, as fascinating as this talk is..."

"Are you afraid to face yourself, too? _My_, dear little Eddie, just how many fears do you have?"

The Riddler stepped away from the window to sit down on the couch. "Far too many."

"There is no such thing as having too many fears..." Jonathan followed, taking the spot next to Edward.

"Riddle me this: why is that when I _want_ your company, you have to be difficult, but when I'm trying to _escape_ it, you seem perfectly content with following me everywhere I go?"

"Puzzles _bore_ you when you figure out their answers. Your fears intrigue me."

"Everyone's fears intrigue you."

"Yes, but I've never met someone with so _many_ different fears. It's fascinating."

"Fascinating like drawing up your interest? Or, fascinating like you want to dissect my brain? There is a big difference."

"Somewhere between the two." Scarecrow smirked.

"Lovely."

"Maybe a bit closer to the interested idea. Since, while dissecting your amygdala could prove interesting, a dead man cannot show terror."

"Good train of thought," Edward said, quick to agree that it would not be beneficial to cut open his brain. He liked it right where it was - all attached together and inside his head, like it should be.

"Of course, you would make a marvelous test subject..."

"Oh, no, I'm perfectly alright, thank you. My IQ would probably just skew the results."

"Interesting you bring that up, actually. Do you believe that it is your intelligence that gives you so many fears, Edward? Do you believe that smart people are the ones who know that it is good to be afraid - because fear is what keeps people safe?"

Edward kept an eye on Jonathan. "I've never really thought about it before. I'll have to get back to you on that one."

"Next session, then?"

Sweet nausea, a sickening feeling of anticipation, filled Edward at that. Yes, on the surface it was an innocent question - well, if any question from Doctor Jonathan Crane could be called 'innocent'. But, to The Riddler, who could spot and solve any puzzle from a mile away, the question hinted at something more. What was it? Something... Edward pondered. If nothing else, it was the assurance that there would _be_ a next time. "Or, the one after that, maybe," he answered.

"Don't forget to think about it."

"I won't." Edward stood up and disappeared around the corner of the couch. His shoes clicked against the kitchen floor; he returned moments later with a paper towel and a red permanent marker. "This is the best we've got in the way of paper right now. But, it will do. You want to write down the names of all your chemicals?"

Jonathan took the paper towel and marker and began to quickly scribble down a list. "You should be able to find the place easily... Ask for 'Monsieur Poisson'."

"Mister 'Poison'? That's awfully fitting..."

"Yes, if you don't actually know French, it is. Until you realize that 'Poisson' does not mean 'poison'."

Edward frowned. "I know French! At least, _conversational_ French."

" 'Poisson' is 'fish'."

"So, I walk into a chemical shop and ask the clerk for Mister Fish? I kind of liked asking for Mister Poison better. That made much more sense."

"Codes are not supposed to make sense. If they made sense, people would be able to guess them, and then there would be no secret, which would make it unreasonable to even have codes."

"Very well. So, I walk in, ask for Mister Fish, hand over this list, and I'm done?"

"Mostly. Would you mind stopping by a bookstore while you're out?"

Edward raised an eyebrow. "Finished your other book, hm? Anything in particular you want to read?"

"No title comes to mind. As long as it is written word, it will work."

"Alright, no problem. I'd better call Harley and tell her I'm about to leave."

Jonathan finished scribbling down his last few words: "mescaline", "acetanomipholukia", "sodium chloride". He placed the marker's cap back on and folded the paper towel in half, ignoring the red ink stains that clung to his pants. "That's everything."

Edward, who was by the kitchen counter, gave a quick, "See you in a minute," to his phone before hanging up and skipping back to Jonathan. "_What_ is that word?," Edward asked, looking at the Scarecrow's pants rather than the paper towel.

"The marker bled."

"Well, I figured it would. But, what does that word mean?"

"It's the name of an ingredient; it doesn't mean anything."

Edward shook his head. "That's too long of a word for it not to mean something." He took the folded towel and placed it in a pocket on the inside of his suit coat. "I'm expecting you to eat something while I'm gone."

"You'll be sorely disappointed, then."

"At least take a _bite_ of a cracker or something. You're supposed to eat something with your medicene - which you need to take a dosage of in about an hour. Just take one pill and eat a cracker or a piece of bread or cheese or whatever it is you decide you can swallow a bit of. You don't need to take any more of the medicene before I get back home, but, if your chest starts to hurt, there's a salve in the bathroom cabinet."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"Don't move around too much, okay? Try to sleep for a few hours; take another bath if you feel like you can."

"Alright."

"Here," Edward said, holding out his phone. "I'll leave my phone with you, so if you need me, just call Harley. She's a three on speed dial."

"Alright."

"Harley will probably answer, but just tell her you want to talk to me. Actually, I'll probably tell her that I left my phone with you for emergencies so that she'll know it's you ahead of time."

"Alright, Edward."

"Don't leave the apartment. But, if you do, I'm hiding an extra key behind a puzzle trap in the mailbox, which I'm sure you can solve - just in case you lock yourself out by accident."

"Alright, Edward."

"And, if someone knocks on the door, don't answer. At least not without a gun. I hid the ones we used yesterday at the bank in the sock drawer of my dresser..."

"Edward."

"Hm?"

"I've managed to keep myself alive this long; I think I'll be able to survive a few hours on my own. Leave already, would you?"

"Right," Edward agreed quickly, adjusting his tie. "Be careful, Jonathan. Call if you need me!" He headed for the door. "I'll be back in a little while!" Edward shut the door behind himself, making sure it was securely locked. He set a code on the small mailbox, placing a spare key inside it. Then he took a deep breath and made his way downstairs to the car.

And, then he ran back to check that he had, indeed, put a key in the box. Damn OCD.

The drive to Harley's was short, and it took forever. Edward had a strong urge to pick up his phone and call Jonathan, to make sure he was alright... But, Edward didn't _have_ his phone. He'd left it with Jonathan, who didn't have a phone at all, so that he could call if something bad came up. But, what if something bad happened when Edward wasn't around Harley? What if Batman somehow tracked the apartment down and found Jonathan? The Bat would beat him up! Jonathan was already injured enough, as it was: the last thing he needed was the Batman bullying him. Edward pressed his foot down on the accelerator a bit more. _I need to get to Harley's._ He _had_ to make sure Jonathan wasn't trying to call, wasn't in danger-!

"Heya, Eddie!," Harley sang, answering the door.

The Riddler pushed past her, not bothering to return the greeting. "Where is your phone?"

"On the countah," she said, her mood not tainted in the slightest. "Why? Where's yours?"

"I left it with Jonathan in case he needed to call me." Edward picked up Harley's phone and started sifting through the recent calls, but the last one was from his phone twenty minutes earlier - when he'd called to say he was leaving.

"Oh, speakin' o' Professah Crane, Ivy an' I were wonderin' when you two got on a_ first-name _basis."

Edward set the phone down, half-relieved, half-disappointed that Jonathan wasn't in danger. "Hm? What are you talking about, Harley?"

"Well, ya certainly weren't callin' 'im 'Jonathan' last I heard. Everybody calls him 'Crane'."

"But, that's such a hideous name to be called."

"I dunno; I kinda like it."

"Well, I don't. So, we agreed that I call him by his first name. Or, at least I insisted, and he acquiesced."

"Uh-huh... And, what about that secret you were s'posed to tell me about?"

"What secret?"

"Don't try tuh fake like you're a dummy, Riddles! I know ya know what I'm talkin' about!"

"Are you sure about that?"

"Sure, I'm sure! Tell me!"

"What kind of a person just goes about spluttering secrets?"

"Tell me! Tell me! Tell me! Tell me~!"

"Answer: one without any amount of pride or dignity. So, no, Harley, I will not tell you."

She pouted for a moment, but then a mischevious glint crossed her eyes. "Can I guess, then?"

Edward opened his mouth to respond, but a knock on the door pulled Harley's attention away. As soon as the clown-girl ran off to greet Ivy, Edward snatched up her phone and stared at the screen, waiting for something to happen. Any second. 'Call From:'...It would happen. Edward could feel it. Something was going on back in the apartment! Definitely!

"C'mon, Eds, we're leavin'!," Harley shouted.

The phone didn't ring. Disappointed, Edward pocketed the device and followed the sound of Harley's voice to the door. He nodded in greeting to Poison Ivy, who was standing next to Harley. "Pamela."

"Nigma."

Harley ushered her two friends out the door and to her car. "We ain't hardly ever outta Arkham all at the same time! So, we gotta make the most o' this!"

"Where are we eating, Harls?," Ivy asked, taking the liberty of climbing into the passenger's seat.

Without much of a choice, Edward opened the door to the backseat and crawled into the seat behind Ivy. Edward scowled as the green-skinned woman slid her seat back to give herself more leg room - leaving him with barely any room to move at all. Edward muttered, just loudly enough for Ivy to hear, "Wherever it is, I'll be sure to order a nice, big _salad_."

Ivy hissed, turning to glare at him, but Harley turned the keys in the ignition and chirped happily, "I was thinkin' we'd head to that Brazilian place; I forgot the name of it."

"The one in that alley down Hevarn Way?"

"Yeah, I think that's the name of the street, Eddie. I figured that'd work best, since it's mostly just meat, and Red'll have our heads with her meal if we order somethin' that comes with veggies."

"Sounds fine to me. It's a good ways out of the 'decent' part of town, so we shouldn't have to worry about someone turning us in there."

"Right!" Harley pulled the car out into the road. "Oh, Red, did I tell ya? Riddles won't tell me his secret!"

Edward rested his head back against the seat, staring up at the ceiling of the car in disbelief. "Really, Harley?"

The clown turned to look at him. "Can I start guessin', now?"

"No, you can't start-"

"Ya secretly still sleep with a teddy bear!"

"What? Of course not! Why would I do that?"

"I dunno; I do! Um," she watched the road as she thought of something else. "Ya secretly still eat animal crackers?"

"You're awful at guessing."

"Ya yell at the t.v. when people on those gameshows get questions wrong?"

Ivy answered that one for Edward, "That's hardly a secret."

"Hmm... Ooh! Ooh! I know! Are ya secretly a girl?"

"I find that comment extremely offensive, Harley!"

"Oh, sorry, Eddie; it ain't that ya _look_ like a girl or anything! Ya sure wouldn't make a very pretty girl, really. I was just tryin' ta think o' somethin'!"

"..."

"Ya secretly like _Twilight_?"

"I've never read it. Would you give up already?"

"Nevah! Ya workin' undercovah for the B-man?"

"No."

"Takin' steroids?"

"Do I look like I'm on steroids to you?"

"Irrational fear o' smiley faces?"

"Really?"

"You 'n Killah Moth went to school together?"

"No."

"Ya hate whales?"

"No."

"Ya want a pet unicorn more than anything else in thuh world?"

"No."

Poison Ivy half-listened the conversation during the whole drive. And, it continued even after they got out of the car. In fact, the three were seated a table and had already been served drinks when Harley finally got her moment.

The Riddler, whose throat was growing dry from constantly having to negate Harley's ridiculous suggestions, was casually sipping water from his glass, when Harley saw her chance and leaned over the table toward him. She half-giggled, half-whispered, "You 'n Professah Crane got somethin' goin' on, don'tcha?"

Edward coughed, nearly choking on the water.

Ivy smirked while Harley laughed. "Hahaha, Riddles, ya should see your face!"

Edward put a hand to his mouth, trying to stop his coughing; he managed to hack out, "H-how did -?"

The clown-girl quieted her laughter a little, lowering it to an amused titter. "Oh, Eddie, I knew it all along! I was just waitin' for the right moment! I was hopin' to get a spit-take outta ya, but I guess ya decided to choke yourself instead! Heeheeha!"

The Prince of Puzzles quickly regained his composure and demanded, "What do you mean you '_knew'_?"

"Just ask Red! I told her on the phone this mornin'! I could jus' tell by the way you'n the Professah were actin' last night that there was somethin' up!"

"Female intuition," Ivy said, nodding.

Edward looked devastated, staring with blank eyes at the tabletop in front of him, so Harley smiled warmly. "Aww, Eds, what's wrong? Ya know can trust me 'n Red! We won't tell anybody if ya tryin' to keep it all a big secret. Cheer up!"

"I. can't. believe. I'm. so. predictable," Edward murmured.

"Huh?"

"If even an air-headed, love-obsessed _fool_ can see right through me, then surely everyone knows!"

"Hey, watch ya mouth, Eddie," Harley chided before continuing as if the insult didn't bother her, "What's wrong with people knowin'? I think it's cute!"

"How did you figure it out? Am I too simple? Am I not complex enough to remain a mystery?"

"Ed, you're the most puzzling guy I know! It ain't you're fault girls are so smart! Besides, you ain't got no idea how much I was second-guessin' myself on that one! I told myself - I said, 'Harley-girl, now, are ya absolutely positive-positive; are ya positive as a plus sign that ya're right this time?' "

"You weren't sure right away, then?"

"O' course not! How can anyone be sure right away when talkin' about_ you_, Riddle-dee?"

Edward's expression brightened. "Well, as long as I kept you wondering to yourself, I suppose it isn't so bad..."

"So, tell us everything!," Harley squealed, containing herself from standing up and doing a happy dance in the middle of the restaurant.

A waiter came to the table with a skewer holding some sort of meat. "Skirt steak?" Ivy nodded, and the waiter cut off a slice of the blackish meat from the skewer for her. Harley and Edward both shook their heads, so the waiter moved to the next table after serving the plant-woman.

Edward answered Harley, continuing as if the interruption hadn't occurred, "There really isn't anything to tell."

"If there wasn't somethin' to tell, it wouldn'ta been a secret!"

"Hm. True, I suppose." The two both shook their heads as another waiter came around, offering pork loin.

Ivy scolded them, "You're going to have to eat _something._"

Edward waved her off, not really listening. "Well, there isn't _much _to tell. It's complicated."

"Well, I didn't expect anything less from you'n the Doctah!"

"Harley, he doesn't like me."

"No, you _think_ he doesn't like you. But, he doesn' know what 'e likes!"

"I'm fairly certain that, in general, people are able to tell what they like and dislike..."

"Uh-uh," Harley insisted. "Guys nevah know what they like. Mistah Jay even admits it: he don't know whethah he wants to keep toyin' with Bats or whethah he'd rathah just kill 'im and get it ovah with."

"_That_ is a little bit different."

"Nope. All guys' problems are the exact same."

"Well, _I_ am a 'guy'. What does that say about me?"

"You're different."

"But, you _just_ said-..."

"Hey, Red, what's the waiter-guy over there have?"

Edward frowned, knowing that Harley was finished with the conversation. _He doesn't know he he likes me, hm? Really, Harley?_

Ivy shook her head at the blonde girl, and the waiter answered for her when he approached the table. "Filet mignon?"

"Yes, please," Edward said quickly, finally deciding to turn his attention to food.

Harley sighed, disappointed at the sight of the bacon wrapped around the meat. "No thanks."

"You don't eat bacon?," Edward asked as he saw the look on her face.

Ivy smoothed her long, wavy red hair down, answering dully, "She's Jewish."

"Really? For a Jewish girl, you certainly do get into Christmas..."

"Hey!," Harley said, pointing an accusing finger at him. "We, among the Arkham family, do not judge each other!"

"I wasn't judging. I was making an observation."

"Why don'cha observe that Red does... Somethin'!"

"Because if I pointed something hypocritical out about her, she'd hit me. You are, at least, nice about it."

"Ya callin' me a hypocrite? And, nice? I don't know whethah to slap ya or tell ya thanks, Eds!"

"I have that effect on people. It's called confusion."

"You ain't got room to talk, Riddles! Here ya are, Mr. Self-Confident, butcha're too scared to try 'n get somewhere with the Professah, even though ya like him!" Edward glared at her, falling silent. "Hey, uh, Eddie, ya know I was just tryin' tuh prove a point; I didn't mean tuh hurt your feelin's or nuthin'..." Harley pouted as The Riddler continued to ignore her.

Poison Ivy relaxed in the blessed silence as she ate with her two friends - well, _Harley_ was a friend, anyway. She didn't mind the tension between the two; it was certainly more welcoming than their constant jabbering. It was only a shame that Harley had to pout about it. And, that Edward Nigma was too hard-headed to forgive the Clown Princess of Crime for something she'd said... Even though he'd deserved it. Ivy tried not to be surprised when Edward paid the bill.

* * *

><p>"Eddie? Ed? Ya know, I'm real sorry about what I said earliah. I didn't know it'd really hurt ya feelin's," Harley murmured for the seventeenth time. The way she saw it, it was her last chance! Eds hadn't talked to her since the restaurant, and that had been hours ago!<p>

Ivy groaned, sick of seeing Harley's puppy-dog face. "Nigma, would you just accept the apology? You get to go home after this; I actually have to stay here with her."

Edward stepped out of the car, stretching his legs before slamming the door behind himself. "Very well: I accept it."

"Ya do?" Harley hopped out of the driver's seat and ran around to trap Edward in a death-grip of a hug. "Oh, Eddie, I'm so glad! I thought ya were gonna stay mad at me forevah!"

"Calm down, Harley; you'll wrinkle the suit," Edward said, doing his best to wriggle out of the hug. As soon as the crazy girl let go of him he tried to smooth out the creases.

"Ah, don't worry about it, Eds! Ya can just iron it when ya get home. Ain't like ya headin' off to someplace where people'll actually see ya!"

"I still like to look _presentable_..."

"Ooh, for Doc Jonny, you mean? Hahahe, oh, Ed, that's so cute! I remembah those days when I used to fret for ow-uhs ovah my looks for Mistah Jay."

" 'Those days'? You don't still?"

"Well, no, not as much, anyhow! So long as I'm his Harley Quinn, Puddin's perfectly happy!"

Edward nodded, deciding to make his exit. "Well, I'd better get back to the apartment. Injured partner-in-crime to treat and whatnot."

"Aww, alright, Riddle-o! Call ya late-ah!"

Edward bowed politely in a farewell to Ivy. "Good evening, ladies." Ivy made no response back, but Harley waved as he got into his car and drove away.

_Riddle me this..._ He tried to come up with a riddle that he could greet Jonathan with, but nothing came to mind. He could always choose from a riddle about something random... No, that wouldn't do. It would be a relevant riddle or no riddle at all! Not that there could be no riddle at all. Just a figure of speech. Really. Edward was tired. _He doesn't know he likes me..._ Well, that wasn't helpful to anything. _I should have asked what I can do to - oh, who am I kidding? Advice from Harley Quinn? I really am insane._

"You're lucky that chemicals don't weigh much, Jonathan!," The Riddler shouted as he carried a large cardboard box into the apartment, kicking the door closed behind himself.

The Scarecrow was silent. No shock.

Edward set the box on the floor, dramatically wiping his brow. "I'm _exhausted_!" He took a few deep breaths before leaning over to open the box and take out a plastic bag. He carried them around to the front of the couch. Jonathan's head was resting against the arm of the couch, but he watched Edward's approach with keen eyes. "Here, I don't really know what books we ended up getting. It's difficult to shop with the girls. I was trying to look into some mystery novels, but Harley kept pulling me over to the cheesy romance section. Ivy was trying to pull us both out of the store, yelling continually about the mindless murder of trees, which, of course, drew some attention, so we had to hurry."

Jonathan didn't lift his head but took the plastic bag from Edward and carefully removed five books. "Two books I haven't read before, at least..."

"Really? You've read the other three? So, I completely just wasted money on that for no reason."

"I'll read them again, anyway. It doesn't matter that much."

"How many times can you read something? Don't you get bored with it?"

"Not with books."

"Riddle me this: I can take you on a voyage through a bitter sea, or trekking through jungles of pain and jubilee; I can make you laugh or make you cry, force you to believe my truths and my lies-"

"A book, Edward. When you tell riddles about a subject in the conversation, it is very difficult _not_ to get the correct answer."

Edward sat down on the couch, heaving a sigh. "Spoilsport." _He doesn't know he likes me. _"Jonathan, are you feeling any better?"

"I feel fine."

"You've been saying that since you got injured. I'm being serious. How do you feel?"

"Why does it matter?"

"I was just thinking that we can't afford to give the Batman time to do his research. That's always when he catches us. Now that he knows we're at large, he'll be trying to track us down. So, we have to strike again, to confuse him!"

"Tonight?"

"Tomorrow night. The new building at Wayne Enterprises." _Just agree, just agree, Jonathan..._

"As long as the Bat doesn't try to fight me, I'll be alright, I suppose. Though that doesn't give me much time to prepare my toxin..."

Edward grinned evilly. "Oh, don't worry about that. I'll help!"

Jonathan didn't miss the sinister glow in Edward's eyes, but he assumed it was meant for Batman or Gotham City. The Scarecrow couldn't possibly have imagined Edward's real plan.

And, it certainly didn't cross his mind that the loot for the scheme would be none other than _himself._

Edward Nigma was finished playing games with someone who wouldn't play along.


	10. Game

10. Game

"The _new_ moon always _waxes_ first."

Batman paused the television before rewinding and listening again. Unfailingly, the weatherman repeated, "...with a seventy-percent chance of rain. So, remember Gothamites, the new moon..." A confused look crossed the forecaster's face as he read his script, invisible to the camera. "...Always waxes first...?" Rewind. "...waxes first. Always waxes first." An awkward pause followed before the camera switched to news reporter Vicki Vale and her footage of the local greenhouse, which was overgrown with strange-looking flowers.

Barbara Gordon fixed her father and Batman with that same, stubborn glare she'd been giving them for the past day and a half. Well, she'd only given it to Batman for the few hours she'd seen him. Mostly, the glare was for her dad, who thought Edward Nigma was her hero. "You see? It _has_ to be Riddler."

The Dark Knight nodded curtly. "It's just like him. He's leaving us another clue."

Commissioner Gordon clenched and unclenched his fists, trying to cope with the stress of his job as both policeman and father. Another clue. From the man who'd saved his daughter's life. "Can you solve it?"

"Yes."

"So, what is it, Batman?," the commissioner asked eagerly. "I'll send the entire police force out. We'll have cars all around the place. We'll be armed and ready, with all our newest weapons and cars. We can take down Scarecrow. We've gotta rescue him; I can't let Scarecrow win after what Nigma did for Barbara."

Barbara groaned in irritation. "Dad, I'm telling you, the man doesn't need rescuing..."

"He saved your life, Barbara!"

"Only after putting it in danger!" She looked desperately toward Batman for help. "Tell him, Batman! You know! No one knows the criminals like you do!"

The Caped Crusader shook his head with a reserved sigh. "We don't have any evidence linking Edward Nigma to anything. No witnesses claim to have seen him at the bank; there wasn't a death-trap set up to kill you if we couldn't pass some test of riddles. Everything just points straight to Scarecrow."

"But, I _saw_ him, Batman. I know I did."

Jim Gordon put a hand on his daughter's shoulder. "You might have, Barb, but how do you know he wasn't another hostage, like you? Can you really remember that well?"

"I just _know_, Dad... He had a look in his eyes. It wasn't sane. I just... I know. He _and _Scarecrow, just - you've got to believe me."

The commissioner turned to glance at Batman, hoping to get some support, but the vigilante had disappeared soundlessly out the open hospital window. Jim frowned, kissing his daughter on the forehead. "I believe what you think you saw. But, the last time you came back from Scarecrow, you kept crying that Batman was dead. It's that damned fear poison..."

"But, Dad..."

"I can't take action based on what you think you saw, sweetheart..."

"Dad, something big is going to happen tonight. You can't ignore it - something bad."

"I know, Barbara; I know. I can feel it, too."

"Then promise me you won't underestimate him."

"Never. I'd never underestimate Crane."

"Crane isn't the one planning anything yet."

Jim furrowed his brow, thinking it over. "Do you really think Edward Nigma is behind all of this?"

"No. But, I think Scarecrow wants Nigma to think so."

"So, you _do_ think we need to save Nigma?"

"Not from Scarecrow. From himself."

"When did you get so good at reading people, Babs?"

Barbara put a hand on her dad's arm. "Let's just say I've had practice."

* * *

><p>"Look, Batman! I figured out the riddle - well, with a little help from Alfred!," Robin shouted proudly as The Dark Knight jumped out of the Batmobile and approached the large computer that rested in the center of the Batcave..<p>

"So did I. 'The _new_ moon always _waxes_ first.'"

Robin nodded in disappointment. For once, he had thought he might have figured _something_ out before his mentor. Ah, well. He'd try again next time. "Yeah, after the moon waxes. It 'wanes'."

"Wayne. The 'new' Wayne building."

"But, why would Riddler target your new building?"

"Or, Scarecrow."

"Yeah, him, too. But, it isn't a chemistry laboratory or anything. It's not a bank. It's not a museum; there's nothing unique really there... It's just an office building, right?"

"Mostly."

"And, they didn't hit during the day today, so that means tonight - when no one will be working. It doesn't make any sense, Bruce! There won't be people to target or money to steal! What kind of costume criminal goes out and hits a place where there isn't loot to take or havoc to cause?"

"Maybe they just want our attention. Scarecrow might be looking to trade off his hostage for something."

"You mean,_ if _Riddler's a hostage. But, if that's the case, and he's just using Riddler to make us show up, shouldn't we not show?"

"If we're not there when Scarecrow decides to hit, he might decide his hostage is useless. And, dispose of him." Batman checked on the status of the Batmobile's fuel supply before continuing, "So, we'll be better off if we get there soon." He took off his cowl to replace it with another, identical one.

"What? Already? It's not even dark out yet!"

"It's better to be three hours early than to be a minute late."

"Riddler didn't leave you a time or anything? He couldn't have been, like, 'Oh, and by the way, Batman, if you could be at the building where 'the moon waxes first' between the hours of seven and eight, that would probably be in everyone's best interest...?," Robin whined, checking his watch. "It's barely even five-thirty!"

"We're lucky he could leave us what he did."

With a bit more whining and and a lot more protesting, the Boy Wonder suited up in his red, green, and yellow super-suit, strapping his utility belt around his waist. He loaded the belt with his batgrapple, a batclaw, and several batarangs. "What else do you think we should take, Bruce?"

"Gas masks."

"Oh, right, I almost forgot!" Robin ran over to the specialized supply closet, which was filled with weapons and defense mechanisms for specific villains. He tossed a winter coat to the side... And, a heat ray he wasn't sure anyone had ever actually used. He found the gas masks toward the back; it'd been a while since they'd faced Joker toxin or fear toxin. Robin fastened the mask to his utility belt and closed the closet, turning away. "Alright, I'm ready."

Robin hopped in the specialized, tank-like car, and the duo took off toward the heist site. They parked the Batmobile in an alley several blocks away and positioned themselves on top of a building near Wayne Enterprises Office #6. The rain poured down from the sky above, pelting the superheroes and obscuring their vision.

Robin tapped his foot on the rooftop, looking through his binoculars at the tall building that was decorated with a giant 'W'. He groaned in annoyance, reaching around to wipe the raindrops off the lenses of his 'second pair of eyes'. "You don't think it's weird that Scarecrow let him leave us the hint?"

"Nigma's careful. Scarecrow might not have known."

"He isn't careful enough to _escape_, though? Don't you think that's a little suspicious?"

"Of course. It's all suspicious."

"So, what if it's a trap?"

Batman shook his head, and drops of rain flew from his cowl. "If it is, it's not a trap for us. Otherwise, Riddler would have seen to it that the message was personally delivered - not given in a slip-up on the local news. The risk would have been too great. What if we hadn't seen? He just wanted to get _someone's_ attention. And, probably hoped it'd be us."

"So, who do you think it's a trap for, then? Scarecrow?"

"I'm almost positive."

Robin sat down on the edge of the rooftop they were hiding out on. "You don't believe Babs, then. That Riddler's on Scarecrow's side."

"And, you do?"

"I just don't think she'd lie about that."

"She wouldn't. She knows what she saw. But, what her eyes saw and what her brain saw could be two different things. Crane's hallucinations are strong; I would know. I've experienced them."

Robin raised his hand, catching sight of a car. "Hey, Bruce. I think it's Riddler o' clock, sharp."

Gotham's Guardian watched the headlights of the car move down the street; the lights were the only visible part of the vehicle in the dark and the rain. The yellow-white glowing lights slowed to a stop and then disappeared altogether. "Looks like it."

"Do we pounce now or wait?"

"Wait. If we go now, Crane might use his toxin as a bargaining chip. He breaks a few vials on the ground, and the rain carries it straight into Gotham's sewage system. Straight to the river. We wouldn't be able to catch him."

"Well, what do we wait _for_? An invitation?"

"Yes. We'll know when it's time."

Robin squinted through his binoculars. "Are you sure? I can't even see anything now that the car's lights have gone out..."

"Give it time."

Robin waited as patiently as he could, watching the building. The rain gradually increased in speed, and water began to pool in the streets where it couldn't enter the sewers quickly enough. That wouldn't be fun to drive in. After a few minutes of wordless waiting, a light came on at the very top of the building - the top floor. "Batman!"

"That's it," The Dark Knight said, drawing his arms up into his cape and jumping, gliding down to the street below. Robin shot a grappling hook to the office building and used it to swing himself down to the ground. By the time they were on the street, all the building's lights had turned on. "The top floor's light came on first. The rest all came on at the same time."

"You think that's a hint?"

"I think it could be. I'll check from the top floor down. You check from the bottom then go up."

The Bat's sidekick nodded. "Alright, but call me if you find them. I want in on the action! Oh, and, don't take the elevator! Scarecrow'd be the one to rig it with toxin or something."

"Be careful, Robin."

The Boy Wonder walked into the building cautiously, taking in his surroundings. It was lucky he'd been in the place a few times with Bruce: it was like a maze of office cubicles... He ran through the first floor without checking into several rooms and without examining any of the cubicles too well. It wasn't that he was careless, but - what were the odds that he'd actually run into the villains? Batman was the one who was going to do that. Always. And, then he'd call and tell Robin, but, by the time Robin got there, the criminals would get away... Or, Batman would have won already. Either way. Robin took the stairs to the next floor, checking the time again. He was always late for everything. Always missed all the action. It just seemed like he was _always_ in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Robin stepped out from the staircase onto the second floor and turned a corner, batarang in hand. His eyes searched the corridor, looking for any sign of Scarecrow or The Riddler. He frowned. He could have sworn he'd searched ten floors of the building, and _nothing_. Well, granted he had actually only searched about half a floor, but... Still! The place was a huge maze! No wonder Riddler would have wanted to pick it as a destination from crime! Where was Riddler, anyway? Shouldn't Batman have found him by now? He tapped his headset, starting, "Any luck, Batman? There's no sign of th-" Robin froze.

Something was on his shoulder.

"_Lost_?"

Instinctively, Robin reacted, turning to throw a punch, but the Scarecrow slipped out of range easily. "Scarecrow! Where's Edward Nigma?"

"You're in no position to be asking questions, little bird."

"I'm not scared of you!"

"_Aren't you_?"

Robin swallowed a breath, watching Crane with careful eyes. What were his chances of landing a punch if he tried a second time? Not good. That'd just give Scarecrow a chance to strike back. Great. Just great. He reached up to tap his headset again, hoping to send Batman a distress signal; yet, just as his hand reached above shoulder-level, a cold, metallic object pressed against the side of his head, just behind his ear.

"Well, _well_, if it isn't the Boy Blunder. Worried about me, are you?"

Robin cursed his own bad luck. Surrounded. He opened his mouth to address The Riddler, even though the criminal was invisible - hidden from Robin's line of sight. "Riddler. You're working with Scarecrow!"

"Yes," Edward said evenly, keeping the steel of his pistol firmly against the Batling's head. "We make quite the admirable team - don't we, Jonathan?" Crane stayed where he was, not affirming or denying the statement, but Edward Nigma continued, anyway. "How's your little girlfriend, by the way? You didn't bring her along? Shame. If you had, perhaps you wouldn't be in this situation, hm? It's odd, isn't it? How things go like that. It's all just so _puzzling_. Absolutely _enigmatic._ "

Robin frowned in confusion. At first, he'd thought Nigma was trying to make him angry by insinuating that Batgirl was his girlfriend - which Edward had done, certainly. But, The Riddler just kept talking and talking and talking, like he was trying to talk himself into some sort of purpose. Robin noticed Scarecrow tilt his head to the side ever-so-slightly. So, it wasn't a rehearsed thing. Crane was just as confused. Well, that was good, at least. Nigma wasn't acting according to plan. The two were out of sync. Maybe Robin had an advantage...

"Relationships," The Riddler drawled on, "are so important in making things go smoothly. _Right_, Jonathan?"

The Scarecrow raised his head, just enough to be noticeable. And, even hidden behind the mask, Robin thought he saw something like recognition in Crane's eyes. _Dang. _Riddler and Scarecrow were back on the same page. Well, there went that moment of advantage out the window.

But, then the gun fell away from the side of Robin's head.

The Riddler was in front of Robin. Yet, not facing him.

Walking toward Crane. Still holding the gun.

Definitely not part of _Scarecrow's_ plan. Robin heard Batman's voice in his head. A trap for Scarecrow? _"I'm almost positive.__" _The Dark Knight's sidekick reached up and tapped the side of his communicator to call Batman to him, but he didn't dare make another move.

Edward Nigma reached a hand up, pulling the Scarecrow's burlap mask off. Robin clutched a batarang in his fist, feeling its uselessness. This was _not_ what was supposed to happen. He was supposed to be able to protect Gotham City, but he wasn't supposed to kill people. And, he wasn't supposed to let people be killed! It was his job to stop things like that from happening. _Batman, hurry..._ He couldn't risk any movement; it might startle The Riddler into firing...

The barrel of the gun made its way under Crane's chin, but the Professor of Fear retained a calm expression. Robin stared in horror and confusion. _What? Why?_ Why would The Riddler even want to kill the Scarecrow, if they'd been working together? Did something..? He found his voice just to shout, "Riddler, don't!"

Edward smirked, turning to eye the Boy Wonder with an amused look. "Don't what?" And, then he turned back to Jonathan Crane. And did exactly the last thing Robin expected.

The Riddler _kissed_ the Scarecrow.


	11. Serenity

11. Serenity

Mission accomplished, Edward grabbed Jonathan's hand, bolting for the elevator - since he assumed Batman would take the stairs. What semi-intelligent superhero wouldn't? Robin chased after a short moment of bewildered deliberation, but Edward turned the gun toward the little Birdboy and pressed the button to close the elevator doors. The Riddler hoped that Robin wouldn't think quickly enough to run down a flight of stairs and surprise them on the ground floor... But, the whole first floor was a labyrinth, anyhow, and it would take quite a while to navigate from the stairwell exit.

Edward aimed the gun toward the elevator doors, preparing himself for anything -

When an almost-silent 'thump' rocked the elevator.

Edward looked up at the ceiling, eyes wide. _Damn it, Batman. Why don't you just take the stairs like a normal person?_

"Pay _attention_, Edward!," Jonathan hissed, trying to pull out of The Riddler's grasp and run out the open elevator doors. If he had been able to remove Edward's hand, he would have gladly fled the scene on his own, but Edward's subconscious seemed to have prepared for that; his hand was quite tight around the Scarecrow's. "Run!"

Edward pulled his eyes away from the elevator's vent, which was making rather loud noises suddenly, and he followed Jonathan as quickly as he could manage. Still, the Professor of Fear was basically dragging him to the car. Edward had half a mind to ask if Jonathan had been on the track team back in high school, but then he remembered two important things. One: he wasn't supposed to bring up Jonathan's past. Two: he'd just led Jonathan out to Wayne Enterprises under the pretense of causing mayhem, when he had really only sought to solidify the status of what Jonathan liked to think of as an 'imaginary relationship'.

But, Jonathan, to Edward's confusion, said nothing other than, "Shall we return this car to its owner or drive it off into the river somewhere?"

"Neither," Edward said after a moment. "We'll just abandon it in a parking garage. The Bat won't chase us; he only gives chase when he's close to catching us. Next time, maybe. But, we'll be fine for now." Edward copied Jonathan, getting into the car, and he stared as the Scarecrow started the car and shifted it into gear, flooring the gas pedal.

Jonathan was silent.

"Ahem," Edward cleared his throat, trying to dissipate the awkwardness that he wasn't sure even existed in Jonathan Crane's mind. "So... I suppose it's obvious that the little Bird will be telling Batman about all that."

"Yes."

Edward tilted his head, thoroughly confused. He'd expected Jonathan to react angrily - like a normal person might. But, then he felt a bit foolish - just a bit, and it was only a feeling: he wasn't really a fool! - for thinking of the Scarecrow as normal in any way. "I just kissed you, you know."

"Yes."

"And, Batman will know soon, if he doesn't already."

"Yes."

"I did it on purpose. I _planned_ it. Just so they'd think we're together. So you can't deny it and so they'll make it public."

"I assumed as much."

"Criminal couples are dangerous. And, that's what they're going to view us as."

"Perhaps."

"Just look at Bonnie and Clyde. Harley and The Joker." The Riddler gave a small smirk. "Though we're a bit_ different _from them, I suppose..."

Silence.

Edward shook his head. "You told me not to think about this. About a 'relationship'. I did, anyway. I _kissed_ you."

"I noticed."

"You liked it."

"Let's not allow ourselves to get carried away."

"You did! You _liked_ it!," Edward repeated, louder.

"I've told you already, Edward. I don't have any sort of feelings about things like that. Good or bad. And, there's no point in being angry over something that has already occurred and cannot be undone."

"So, since there's no way you can prevent it... You don't care if people think we're... involved?" Edward asked. He received only a strained nod in response. "And, what about if we are actually..." His breath hitched for a moment. "...Involved."

"I believe I've already made it perfectly clear that I cannot care about you in any feasible way. If that fact doesn't bother you, then I really have no more feeling on the matter."

The Riddler processed the information slowly - well, slowly for him. Quite swiftly by the normal population's standards, of course. "You mean to say that... You really don't care if I _do_ act like we're a... Couple?"

"It makes no difference to me," Jonathan replied, turning the stolen car into a parking garage. "As long as it doesn't get in the way of my research."

"You certainly didn't act like it 'made no difference to you' the other day..." Edward frowned, mulling it over. "So, can I kiss you again?"

"If you ask, of course I'm going to have to say no."

The frown morphed into a devilish grin. "Ah, no asking, then. As The Riddler, I should have a problem with that. But, somehow, I find that extremely _attractive.._."

Jonathan parked the car on the third level of the first parking garage he could find and left the keys on the dashboard, stepping out. Edward followed his example. "We'll be walking for a while to get to the apartment," Jonathan stated, walking almost mechanically down a flight of stairs that led out of the parking garage.

"That's alright," Edward answered, grabbing Jonathan's hand. "It won't take as long if we run."

"And, draw more attention to ourselves."

"Darling, your shirt is stuffed with straw. There is a broken noose strung around your neck, and I'm dressed from head to toe in bright green. How could we draw more attention to ourselves?"

Jonathan jerked his arm from The Riddler's grip. "By holding hands."

"I thought you said you didn't care about things like that."

"I'm not getting caught just because you want to skip around the streets, singing, with white, puffy clouds and rainbows above your head. Don't let your imagination get carried away."

"...I don't know what surprises me more. That you think my imagination is in charge of my actions or that Jonathan Crane just said the phrase, 'puffy clouds and rainbows'." Edward reached for Jonathan's hand again, grasping it firmly. "I'm still going to hold your hand."

"You don't believe that the Bat or at least the police will be out, looking for us?"

"Gotham's got thousands of streets, and we could be on any one of them, for all they know. They'll be tracking down cars on roads, and we'll be running through dark alleyways. Besides, if they do find us, I've got a gun to hold to your head: that strategy worked quite well with Birdboy."

"Ah, yes, you're going to pay for that."

"For what?"

"Threatening my life."

"You don't honestly think I would have shot the gun, do you? After all the trouble I went through these past few days to make sure you'd stay alive and well?"

"It hardly matters what I honestly think, Edward. You thought it perfectly acceptable to get your way by threatening my life."

"Well, when you say it like_ that_..."

"..."

Edward hugged Jonathan's arm to himself. "So, how are you going to make me pay?"

"..."

"Jonathan?"

Nothing.

"Jon~athan~..."

Not a sound.

Edward chewed the bottom of his lip. "Are you giving me the silent treatment?"

Edward could have heard a feather hit the ground.

"I thought that was more of a 'punishment' _women _used. And, they use it largely ineffectively, might I add, since most men don't like to hear them talk, anyway."

Jonathan might as well have re-donned his burlap mask; the mask would have given him that permanent, sewn-on smile, at least - rather than the near-expressionlessness he was displaying.

"Granted, I do actually use the silent treatment myself... Just used it on Harley not long ago, actually. Since I'm supremely aware of how much people want to hear my talking, and the absence of my voice is like a slap in the face."

The silence was actually becoming rather pleasant. Really. It didn't bother Edward at all.

Edward walked along, pulling Jonathan with him. "Riddle me this: you break it even if you name it." He paused, waiting. "Have I used that one before or something?"

Silence.

"How do you always know the answers, Jon? No one likes a know-it-all..."

The nothingness reminded Edward eerily of the soundproofed cell he'd had in Arkham toward the end of his treatment.

"Jonathan, please..."

Overwhelming quietness. Loneliness. No one _does _like a know-it-all...

"Jon, talk! Say something sarcastic or creepy! Analyze me! Give me a rhyme. Something. Anything!"

"_Edward_," the Scarecrow whispered, stopping in one sudden movement and pulling him back against the wall of the alley they were in.

Edward silenced, startled by the action, but his eyes sparkled up at Jonathan. He rested his head back against the metallic wall of an old warehouse, smiling softly. He wasn't alone. And, the way Jonathan's hands were pressed against his shoulders right then, really didn't feel all that bad...

Then he heard the sound of voices. Quiet voices - but voices nonetheless.

"Billy, we shouldn't _be_ here." A young woman's voice.

"Calm down. Stop worrying; I'll take care of it..." A man.

Edward removed one of his arms from Jonathan, reaching for his pistol. The voices didn't sound like police officers; they weren't quite official enough. Or, stupid or honorable enough. And, their words weren't followed by static-filled radio messages. They were just a little too scared; they were getting closer quickly. So quickly that Edward didn't even have time to notice the abnormally dark look on Jonathan Crane's face.

"Excuse me, citizens," Edward said, pushing away from the wall as he caught sight of the two young people. He frowned as they stopped in his line of sight. The woman's long, straight blonde hair was somehow familiar. And, those scared blue eyes. The Riddler shook his head. Seriously? These idiots were _everywhere!_ "Oh, it's just you again. _Alice_," Edward spat the name out, "isn't it?" Why did they keep running into _Jervis'_ stupid little Alice?

The frightened blonde grabbed onto her boyfriend's sleeve - much in the same way Edward realized one of his hands was still attached to Jonathan's sleeve. He shook his head, pointing the gun at her, anyhow. The boyfriend, Billy, started forward, shouting, "Get away from her!"

"Ah, another shout like that and you'll be picking up darling Alice's remains off the street and walls of this alley."

"We've done nothing to you, _Riddler_!"

Edward shrugged. "Maybe not. What are you doing out at this time of night, though, if you weren't hoping to run into a couple of genius super-criminals?"

"That's none of your business!"

"Answer my questions, _Billy_, or must I repeat what will happen to your dear Alice?"

The dark-haired man who stood next to Alice glared. "We live here."

"Really? In this alleyway? With no nearby apartments... No decent person in the city would be caught in an alley of Gotham. Especially once it gets dark outside. You're lying. Strike one." Edward pointed the gun to the ground and fired, hitting the ground just beside Alice's foot.

Alice shrieked, trying to hide behind her taller boyfriend. "Bil-_ly_," her voice cracked as she started to cry instinctively.

Billy stood in front of her as if he aimed to protect her, but Edward only aimed the gun at Billy's head. "You don't scare me, Riddler!"

"No, that's not my job. It's his, actually," Edward replied, gesturing with the gun toward the Scarecrow. "My job is to make sure that little mindless civilians don't get in the way of our escape. Namely - you two. So, how do I know you aren't going to run off to the police?"

"We've got enough reason not to trust police around here. There's only two types of cops: the bad cops and the good cops. The bad ones'll let people like you off easy for money, and the good cops'll just send you back to Arkham. Neither one would be any help, so why would we go to them?"

"Because you've got no one else to go to. It's what people do. They all have to run to _someone._"

"Well, I don't need help from cops. Or, bored vigilantes. I can take care of myself."

"I can certainly see that. And, your idea of taking care of yourself - and your girlfriend - is running through the dangerous alleyways of Gotham at night without a weapon."'

"Who said I don't have a weapon?"

"You're bluffing. I can see it in your eyes. And, your palms are shaking. Perhaps with fear, perhaps with anger, but either way speaks. If you weren't out to cause trouble, what were you doing? Scouting for someone?"

"You could say that."

"What are you scouting?"

"A target."

Edward raised an eyebrow. "You mean a human target? Who for?"

"He doesn't like to share information."

"Funny; I don't like to be_ denied _it. Strike two." Edward shot the wall of the alleyway, just to the right of Billy's head.

Alice cried out in panic, "S-stop it, Billy!"

The man turned to hug her to himself, snapping, "Me."

"A target for yourself?" Edward laughed, lowering the gun. "You're no killer - no more than I am a fool." When he received no further response, Edward gave Billy a searching look. "What's your motive?"

"Revenge."

"Fair enough. But, what's going to keep you alive long enough to actually find your target?"

"The fact that you don't know who I'm looking for, and you can't stand not knowing. Insane people are like that."

"I'm not insane!," Edward screamed instantly, unable to stop himself. "There's no such thing as insanity!"

"_Edward, we don't have time,_" whispered Jonathan in a fierce hush, emerging from his marked silence.

The Riddler dropped his focus, surprised by Jonathan's sudden input. "We can't just let them _go_."

"_Shoot them, then. Stop stalling!_"

Edward shifted on his feet, catching the urgency in Jonathan's voice. Yes, he could hear sirens somewhere nearby, though he couldn't tell if they were getting closer or farther away... He held the gun up, glancing from Jonathan to his potential victims. "Riddle me this: what happens when you throw a grey rock into a red puddle?"

Jonathan wriggled free from Edward's hold and sprinted down the alley, away from the sound of sirens.

Edward immediately turned to chase after him, shouting, "Jon, wait!" Needless to say, the Scarecrow did nothing of the sort. The Riddler reluctantly disarmed his pistol while he tried to keep track of Jonathan; for someone who didn't have any visible muscles, Jonathan certainly... could... run...

Edward fell back against the wall of the hallway, ready to collapse. His heavy panting - while perhaps slightly over-exaggerated - sounded very close to someone's last gasping attempts at breaths before dying of suffocation. Not that Edward _or_ Jonathan knew what that sounded like... _Ha._

"The...police...weren't...even...close... You... couldn't...'ve...slown down... just... a little?"

The Scarecrow patiently held his hand out, waiting for the key to the apartment door. "Breathe normally, Edward."

Edward forced himself back up onto his feet, taking one last heaving breath before reaching into his suit jacket to pull out his keys. "Here." Jonathan unlocked the door and walked in, setting the keys down on the counter. Edward stumbled in after him, using the edge of the counter for support. "Were you a coach or something at the university? Track or cross-country?"

"I don't work well in teams."

"Well, arguably, it's more of an individual thing..."

"Did you play sports?"

"No, I don't work well with others."

Jonathan shook his head, letting the subject drop. No use in pointing out the flaws in Edward's answer versus what he'd just told Jonathan. Edward Nigma would only deny any flaws, anyway. Jonathan found one of the books Edward had bought for him and opened it, lying down on the couch to read.

Edward locked the apartment door again before walking over to the couch, looking over the top of it to stare down at the Scarecrow. "You're going to read? After all that? Aren't you tired?"

"No."

"You _can't_ read!"

"Actually, I can. Better than most people."

"I didn't mean you _literally_ can't; I'm saying you can't because I still need to talk to you!"

Jonathan sighed, not too enthralled at the idea of 'talking' over something. He turned a page in his book. "Talk, then."

"I want your full attention when I'm talking!"

"That isn't going to happen whether I'm reading or not. If you don't interrupt my reading, at least the attention that I do spare you won't be directed toward thoughts of how brutal I'd like your suffering to be."

Edward sat down on the edge of the couch, moving Jonathan's legs over. "Fine. About this relationship..." He paused. "And, don't say it doesn't exist because it's obvious to everyone, now - or at least it soon will be, if Batman would hurry up and contact the media - that it does."

"I could simply deny it all."

"You wouldn't."

"No, too much effort. Perhaps when I have more time and less urgent matters to tend to. Continue."

"I'm a very fair man. So, I think it only right to allow you the chance to draw some lines as to where I can and cannot go, or what I can and cannot do... As far as this relationship goes."

"I'd rather not waste the time."

"You're not going to draw any lines?"

"Why? So that you can dance all over them?"

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means that you are telling me to draw lines. You are not saying that you will respect those lines."

"I'll _respect_ them!"

"And, yet you'll cross them, anyhow."

"Well..." Edward shrugged passively; he couldn't really deny that. "So, you don't have any boundaries I should know about?"

"I believe I just answered that."

"No, you said that you didn't feel like telling me about any 'lines' because you know I'd cross them. But, I'd rather know beforehand if you're going to get upset when I _do_ cross them. I'd like some ground rules to sort of establish things."

"You have a need for structure."

"Yes, exactly!"

"I prefer chaos."

Edward jumped up, crossing his arms. "Then chaos it will be! I know what you're doing, Jonathan. You're arguing with me in hopes of chasing me off! Well, it won't work!"

Jonathan glanced up at Edward, not bothering to feign interest. "It won't?"

"No! It won't! You're just trying to trick me! But, you can't trick The Riddler! I'm the Prince of Puzzles! The Mystery Man! The Tsar of Tricksters! You won't trick me!"

Jonathan's eyes returned to the pages of his book. "'It is very often nothing but our own vanity that deceives us.'"

Edward narrowed his eyes, beginning, "What are you-," but then he stopped. Those words were familiar somehow. "Pride and Prejudice, isn't it?"

"Impressive, Edward. I'm surprised."

"You don't _look_ surprised... Is that what you're reading?"

"No, I don't know what I'm reading, to be honest."

Edward tilted his head to read the title of the book. "No, I don't recognize the name."

"Did you read that?"

"Pride and Prejudice? I read _most _of it. It's rather famous, though, so it isn't like I'm more familiar with it than the average person." Edward gave a scowl at the use of the word 'average', but he said it, anyway. He didn't like to think of himself as average. He didn't like it at all.

"On the contrary; the average person wouldn't have recognized that quote."

Edward's face brightened: Jonathan did not think he was average. "Well, I _do_ have a great memory..."

"Then you'll remember what I told you to think about. Your fears."

"Oh. Yes, I remember... Whether my level of supreme intellect affects what I fear."

"And?"

"Of course, I say it does. I have the ability to look at the world through my genius mind and think realistically. I can see all the dangers of the world and know that I'll have better odds at surviving if I avoid them."

Jonathan shut the novel in his hands. "Are all your fears conscious?"

"If they weren't, how would I know? I can't see into my subconscious!"

"By that I mean are there things you notice that you half-consciously push away simply because you don't want to deal with them? With so many fears, it would be difficult for you to live day-to-day. At least without the ability to ignore some of those fears."

"I survive."

"Survival is one thing. But, living and surviving are two different concepts entirely. That will be all for now, Edward." Jonathan moved to open the book again.

"Wait, I still haven't gotten to talk to you about what I want to talk to you about!"

"Do hurry, then, would you?"

"You're not entirely against physical contact, are you? You just... You seem like you have a sort of personal space bubble. But, do you? Or, is that just what you want people to think?"

"Absolutely everything you think you know about me is what I want you to think, Edward."

"Thank you, dear, for _completely_ avoiding my question."

"I didn't avoid anything. I couldn't possibly keep track of all those questions, so don't ask so many at one time."

"I don't need you to teach me how to communicate, Jonathan! I already know."

"Perhaps, but you don't know how to communicate _well_. If you did, then Harley wouldn't be your only friend."

"Oh, that's rich coming from _you_! A man who doesn't even know what relationships _are_! At least I _have _a friend!"

"And, I can certainly see why you don't have more."

Hugging his arms tightly to himself, Edward shook his head and shouted, "Stop it!" He could feel his head growing hot with anger, and he could feel it boiling toward his eyes - no! He _refused_ to cry! Not again! But... Nobody_ likes a know...it...all... _No - matter how much he...

"You're selfish, arrogant, _childish_," Jonathan said, savoring the words, "obnoxious,_ annoying_..."

Edward sank to the ground, screaming,"You're a heartless_ bastard_!"

The corner of Jonathan's mouth twisted nastily into a scowl. "I know."

Both men were silent for a few moments, each reflecting on his own thoughts. Edward was the first to speak again, and he looked up in Jonathan's direction, whimpering pitifully, "I just wanted to hug you."

Jonathan took a deep breath, his eyes drifting over the words in his book. "I know very well that's not 'just' what you wanted to do." His tongue made a sort of clicking sound as it moved from its thoughtful resting place behind his teeth, and then he said slowly, "I'm well-aware of what you want to talk to me about, Edward. I just have difficulty understanding why it is a subject I'm involved in at all."

Edward furrowed his brow. "How could you possibly know what I want to talk about?" He hadn't actually let any tears escape - well, not more than one or two, and... Jonathan's voice seemed less... malicious. He could regain himself. He had control of himself again. He drew himself back up onto the sofa, just balancing on the edge.

"You are so predictable, Edward. It isn't just for crimes that you leave clues. The little puzzles are in every aspect of you: you just are not aware of the fact because no one before me has noticed and solved those puzzles."

The Riddler looked toward Jonathan, tilting his head a bit - scrutinizing him. Making absolutely sure he really knew. Then Edward murmured quietly, "I can read you, too, you know."

"Can you?," Jonathan asked. His voice didn't change, and he didn't believe Edward in the slightest. But, he had the decency to raise an inquisitive eyebrow, and the notion was enough for Edward. "Enlighten me."

"I'm not exactly like you," Edward said. "Closer than many people are, but we're different, Jonathan. Very different in some ways..." He trailed off before asking, almost as if he'd lost his train of thought and had become distracted by something else, "Are you asexual?"

"Is this you 'reading' me?"

"Answer the question."

"Yes."

"But, you aren't, really. It's just a pretty thought to you that you can be above all animal desires - all emotion. And, everything else related to being even remotely human. You don't want to be normal."

"Hn."

"I don't want to be normal, either. But, I'm okay with being human - a... different type of human. It's what I am; it's what you are, too. There's more to life than fitting in, than getting a job, than settling down and having a family, than dying. We both know that. But, there's more to life, too, than trying to be something you aren't. You don't have to be that sort of perfect."

"Only because if I actually managed to do it, you would envy me."

"Not _everyone _is out to get you, Jonathan. I know what your life's been like."

"You don't. Edward. No one does."

"Because you won't tell us! No one knows a thing about you from before you worked at Gotham State! And, yet I think everyone in Arkham wholeheartedly agrees that you have the greatest reasons of all of us to make your mark on this city - on the world, even. We all respect you!"

"You still have not read me."

"Fine!," Edward shouted. "You hate yourself, Jonathan! You act so self-absorbed, just like all of us, but, underneath it all, you _hate _yourself. You're constantly paranoid that people will look down on you, because I think that's what you've dealt with your whole life! Bullies harassing you just because you look a little different than everyone else... And, you hate the way you look, too. You hate how bad your skin is, how big your nose is, how strange your ears look, how..."

Jonathan's voice was level, but he did interrupt with, "You could continue all day with that list."

Edward paled, but he didn't take the words back. "...I'd like to kill every little germ who ever called you names. Anyone who called you ugly, or stupid, or..."

"Demonic?," the Scarecrow suggested helpfully.

Edward picked up Jonathan's book and set it aside, leaning across the couch and reaching to hold both of Jonathan's hands. "I'd kill every one of them - if I didn't believe you've already beaten me to it. You have problems trusting anyone, now, because no one in your life has ever treated you the way you deserve to be treated."

Jonathan flinched as Edward's lips touched his own, but he didn't pull away. He laid still and waited patiently for Edward to break the sudden kiss, and when that happened, he waited a moment more. And, then: "Thank you. Edward."

The Riddler was more-or-less clinging to Jonathan's arms, and his curious, hopeful eyes went to meet Jonathan's. "For which part?"

"Being absolutely, completely, and utterly incorrect in your diagnosis of my psyche."

"...What?"

"Thank you."

"No; not that part! You're saying I'm wrong."

"You see precisely what I intended for people to see in me - though most do have notably less sympathy."

"Oh."

"Mhm."

Edward's face was more perplexed than anything, but his eyes clouded a little, troubled. "...Which part?"

"Hm?"

"Which part was I wrong about?"

Jonathan Crane raised an eyebrow - out of more than just courtesy, this time. Of _course_, Edward wasn't actually bothered that he couldn't read Jonathan; it was being 'wrong' that upset him. "Does it concern you so much that you won't be able to function without an answer?"

"Was I right about anything?"

Jonathan eyed Edward's face for a moment, taking in those obsessive, worried flickers of darkness that were flashing around his face. Strange little twitches and glances, and the fearful, still hopeful question that lingered in the air. Jonathan's lip curved slightly - almost into a smile - before he caught himself. "...Yes." He wasn't sure quite why he said it.

"Tell me that."

"I was bullied."

"Did you kill them?"

"Not all directly. A few killed themselves when they realized I was targeting them."

"So, I was right?"

"About that."

"I was right," Edward repeated, more insistent, more needy.

"Yes," Jonathan agreed, appeasingly. "You were."

Edward's triumphant smile didn't faze the Scarecrow at all. And, the resulting kiss didn't surprise him like the first kiss had an hour or so earlier, or the second one, only moments ago. He still didn't return it; he still didn't pull away. But, it didn't catch him off-guard. And, for the first time, he did actually feel it.

They stayed like that for a while - Edward lying mostly on top of Jonathan, alternating between the occasional affectionate kiss to the sudden hug, and, gradually, as The Riddler drifted from the realm of consciousness, to Edward burying his face in Jonathan's shirt and just holding him.

"_Hush-a-bye, _

_Don't you cry; _

_Go...to sleep, ye little baby... _

_When you wake, _

_You shall have_

_All the pretty little horses_..."

Edward had an insistent grip up until the very last seconds before he fell asleep. That was the only reason Jonathan felt the need to sing to him - so that he could regain use of his arms. So that he could get back to his book.

Of course that was the... only reason.


	12. Same

I... cannot even begin to describe the ridiculously longness since I have worked on this story. I have had these chapters basically written for a while, but I never thought to polish them up enough to post. But... Here they are, at last...

* * *

><p>12. Same<p>

"I'm not going to say, 'I told you so,' Dad, but..."

"I know, Barbara... I know." Jim Gordon shook his head. "Just wait until the media gets hold of this. They'll have a whole field day."

"I'm more worried about Riddler and Scarecrow having a field day - at the expense of all the people of Gotham City."

"Batman's working on it. If anything happens, he'll know. At least Nigma likes to leave clues. Good thing. He _has_ to leave them."

"No, Dad, he leaves riddles for attention. That's what all his files say. He wants attention. He doesn't want all his exploits to be ignored, but now... He's getting attention from another source, now. What if he doesn't leave clues anymore? What if now we're up against one of the smartest people on the planet - and he doesn't have to keep us clued in?"

"Calm down, Barb. Nigma's obsessed. It's an obsession: it's not a cry for attention anymore... But, if Batman can't find anything, we'll... Follow the trail Scarecrow leaves."

"If he leaves a trail..."

"The only thing we have is hope, and that's more than they've got. Get some sleep, Babs." Jim kissed her forehead before standing up to walk back out to the hallway. "Any word, Batman?"

"Sorry, sir." A figure a bit shorter than Batman stepped out of the shadows. "Just me. Haven't heard anything from Scarecrow or Riddler. No robberies, no heists, and no missing people who seem related in any way to either of them. No leads at all."

"Robin..." Jim frowned and nodded. "I understand. I appreciate the effort. Keep in touch, and give Batman my regards."

"Will do, sir. How's your daughter?"

Jim turned to look at the door to Barbara's hospital room. "Doing well. It doesn't look like there are any lasting side effects. They say she'll be good to go home in another day or two. And, in a couple of weeks it'll be flushed from her system totally... You know, Babs thinks I'm crazy, but I still feel like..." Jim glanced toward Robin - only to see that the Boy Wonder was gone. "...That boy gets more and more like Batman every day..."

* * *

><p>"Any word, Bruce?"<p>

Batman sighed as Robin approached the Batcave's supercomputer. "The same word I've been finding. Nothing. How's Barbara?"

"The doctors say she's doing well. Scarecrow's stuff doesn't look like it left side effects.

"Good."

"Yeah, that much is good. But, we still don't have anything on Riddler and Scarecrow."

"We'll catch them, Dick. It's Riddler. He's just biding his time."

"It's not just Riddler, though. It's Scarecrow, too."

"Riddler will make it easier for us to catch both of them."

"Do you really think...?"

"Do I really think that what you saw... makes a difference? The media will think so. I don't. I don't believe it for a second. Maybe if it was anyone else... But, not Scarecrow. The only reason Nigma's even still alive is because Scarecrow doesn't realize that one of those riddles gave his plan for Barbara away. Assuming... Riddler is still alive."

"You think it was an act?"

"The Riddler was the one who initiated it, you said. And, Nigma... might think it's real. He's more a danger to himself than anyone. But, Crane... Crane can't feel that way. He doesn't have emotion. The only thing he has is fear. And, I'm not even sure sometimes he can feel that anymore."

* * *

><p>"Batman! Gallery heist! Could be them!"<p>

* * *

><p>"Sorry, Victor, but it's going to be a long time before Gotham City turns into your land of ice..."<p>

"You... will... pay... for... this... Batman... Next time..."

Robin shook his head. "Why is it I always feel sorry for that guy?"

"Victor Fries is worth feeling sorry for."

"Yeah... Too bad this didn't turn out to be Scarecrow and Riddler..."

"Maybe it's too bad... But, at least they aren't out causing trouble for now. Come on, Robin. We can, at least, patrol the city."

"It's been a week."

"And, it could be weeks more before we hear anything. Patience, Robin."

* * *

><p>"Batman! Bank robbery! Could be them!"<p>

* * *

><p>"I can't believe Clayface got away..."<p>

"Not for long. He'll be back in Arkham shortly enough."

"And, I can't believe it still wasn't Scarecrow and Riddler..."

* * *

><p>"Batman! Break-in at the Gotham City Zoo! Could be them!"<p>

* * *

><p>"Batman! The alarm's sounding at the Gotham City Docks! Could be them!"<p>

* * *

><p>"Batman! Hostage situation! Could be them!"<p>

* * *

><p>"Batman! Trouble at GSU! Could be them!"<p>

* * *

><p>"...Looks like trouble, Batman. Someone's hit the Post Office."<p>

* * *

><p>"Come on, Batman! Trouble at the Art Festival!"<p>

* * *

><p>"Batman! Robbery!"<p>

* * *

><p>Barbara Gordon was allowed leave from her place at the hospital to return home, where she could recover fully from the effects of the Scarecrow's fear toxin. Jim Gordon was at work for most of the days, so she spent most of her time at home alone, thinking and moving as much as she could.<p>

There had been no word on Scarecrow and Riddler.

And, yet, she felt like there should be something. She felt in her gut that Batman was missing something. Her father was missing something. She was missing something.

There was a lead, somewhere... That they were all missing.

_Think. Think. _

She knew something. She'd heard something. Something... There was a clue in her mind, deep inside there... What was it?

Barbara sighed as her phone rang. "Hold on... Hold on..." She reached across the nightstand, following the sound of the phone. "Hello?"

"Hello. Barbara Gordon?"

"Yeah, that's me..."

"This is Eliza Carrey, Crystaleye Realty. I just wanted to follow-up on our appointment."

"Realty..." Barbara sat straight up in bed. "I'm sorry, Miss Carrey, but it doesn't look like I'll be in the market for a new place anytime soon."

"Are you sure?"

"Sorry." Barbara quickly hung up. And, then, just as quickly, she dialed another number. "Alfred? Get Bruce on the phone, now. I think I have something that needs to be checked out."


	13. Prosperity

13. Prosperity

"Jonathan, have you seen my shoes?"

"Bedroom, back corner, by the dresser."

* * *

><p>"Jonathan, what are you sewing?"<p>

"Decoys."

"More dolls?"

"Yes."

* * *

><p>"Where are you sleeping tonight?"<p>

"Most likely the bed, as I am assuming you will, no doubt, attempt to freeze me off the couch."

"You give me so little credit, Jon..." Edward smiled, anyway.

* * *

><p>"How goes the chemical-working?"<p>

"The white chemicals need to mix for the next seven hours..."

"By hand?"

"Preferably, but ten slow stirs per minute will do, nonetheless."

"I'll go find a blender, then. Anything else?"

"Some test subjects would be nice."

* * *

><p>"Home again, home again... Alright, Jon, Wayne Tech 300,000.9 Commercial Quality Mixer, and... Twenty large white rats."<p>

"The red chemicals are almost prepared, as well..."

"What do those have to do?"

"Soak perfectly still for exactly twenty-one hours after being separated by dosage. One-thirteenth of an ounce per container."

"I'll get more saucers..."

* * *

><p>"Do you ever name the dolls you sew?"<p>

"No."

"Alright. I was just wondering... That one looks like a Bonooru, is all."

"It looks like a burlap doll."

"Whose name is probably Bonooru."

Jonathan shook his head. "Probably."

* * *

><p>"The blender stopped, Jon!"<p>

"Then it is finished. Set it on the slowest possible setting, and leave it be."

"Are you feeding the rats?"

"Only the hungry ones."

* * *

><p>Edward rolled over to let Jonathan pull himself into bed. "Jon, that blender is making noise..."<p>

"Modern machines tend to do that."

"It's bothering me. I can't sleep."

"Then shut your ears."

There was a long pause before Edward snorted, "Shut my ears?"

Jonathan said nothing else but, "Shut up," and Edward smirked, hugging one of the Scarecrow's arms.

"I'll try."

Jonathan Crane seemed to be slowly settling into the domestic criminal life. He was not even entirely conscious of time anymore. Christmas would be approaching soon, he figured. It would be his first Christmas in... a while... spent outside of Arkham.

Not that he really celebrated the holiday... It was just... an interesting time of year. People changed psychologically.

He frowned to himself and shook away a thought before he let himself think it.

And, yet it echoed through his head so loudly he was surprised everyone within a mile radius couldn't hear it.

Maybe this year he'd be changing, too.

* * *

><p>"How long do we lay low?"<p>

"That depends entirely on your level of patience."

Edward let out a breath, tapping a finger over each vein along the top of Jonathan's still hand. "The level is rather low."

"Then perhaps a few days more." Jonathan's free hand held up a vial of red liquid toward the light. "I need this to be the most potent toxin ever."

"Ever? I think you mean 'yet'. You'll want it to be more potent this time than any time before, but you'll want it even worse next time," Edward corrected absently.

Jonathan made no comment as he continued to work.

"Do all fluids have distinct properties? That react to others? Chemical properties, I mean. Just out of curiosity, of course. I noticed you added milk."

"Whole milk and only from cows who have given birth within three months of producing the milk. Otherwise, the only nutrients my formula requires begin to lose their presence, and the milk is nothing more than a dilution. Yes, all liquids have a particular chemical content, no matter what they are."

"How can you be so sure that milk is the right kind of milk?"

"I don't buy it from the grocery store, if that's what you mean."

"Ah... Have you tried all liquids, then? Everything?"

"Everything I have been able to, yes. I experiment."

"Soda?"

"Yes, actually, though it's useless to my work, unless it is highly caffeinated. I prefer a highly concentrated amount of liquid caffeine for my toxin." Jonathan moved his hand away from Edward's to gesture to one of the many glass bottles lining the center of the table.

"You mean coffee?"

Jonathan responded by taking the bottle in question and adding about a drop to the vial in his hand.

"What about other things? Blood, for example."

"Yes, properties specific to each blood type."

"Saliva?"

"All bodily fluids have properties, just as other non-bodily fluids. They change with diet, however, so they are not the most reliable ingredients in a formula."

"When you say 'bodily fluids'..."

"Yes, Edward, all of them. Blood, mucus, saliva, sperm, sweat - any fluid at all."

"Just checking... What is that stuff?" Edward pointed to a bottle.

"How long have you been waiting to ask that question? Three minutes?"

"About."

"Spider venom."

"What does it do?"

"It's one of the basic hallucinogens for the mixture. What are you drinking, Edward?"

"Drinking? Wine. Blackberry."

"Give it here."

Edward raised an eyebrow, handing the glass to Jonathan. The Scarecrow tipped the rim of the wine glass down, letting one drop out of the glass and into the vial. The Riddler leaned in as the vial started to bubble. The red toxin turned a blackish color, and the bubbles fizzled up into a white gas. "What... does that mean?"

"Basically? It's a classic case of D.U.I. _Drinking_ under intoxication."

"Oh, are you Joker, now?"

"Not joking - making a point. Alcohol and any drug are a dangerous combination; any amount of alcohol mixed with my toxin will create this sort of reaction. In the stomach, this mixture would eat away the protective mucus membrane, and the stomach would likely rupture itself. Which would cause the stomach acid and toxin to blend more, which could easily be fatal to the human body. You would die."

"I would die?"

"Using you as a general, not a personal, term."

"That is fascinating... Quick question, though: isn't this idea irrelevant, considering your toxin is only workable as a gas or an injection?"

"There is the issue of getting someone to swallow a dose, yes. A chance of heart failure can be likely if someone inhales the toxin after heavy alcohol consumption, considering the drastic change in heart rate. Alcohol is a depressant, while fear is a stimulant. Less faulty, though, is injection. If toxin in the blood meets a decent enough level of alcohol in the blood, this reaction would cause veins - even the heart, possibly, to burst. Quick, irreversible death."

"So, the lesson here is: don't get drunk on the night you feel like you might run into Scarecrow. If you were aiming to kill someone, though... Wouldn't it be easier to use conventional poisons? Or, a gun..."

"The beauty in what I do isn't in killing people, Edward. It's in letting the people kill themselves. All people are their own downfalls."

"Ah, but what about people who die in their sleep?"

"Those who die of age, you mean. Their lives ended before their deaths. They put too much meaning into work or family - terminal things. There's a point... when people give up."

"What about people with illnesses?"

"Neglected their own health. Put faith in doctors - men and women who are more concerned with money and their own families and selves. All people can take matters into their own hands. Freeze is living proof of that: his Nora still lives."

"People who are murdered?"

"Actions provoke murderers; you know that."

"So, basically, you're one of those people who believes that a girl deserves it if she's raped. Lovely."

"And, that her rapist fully deserves it when he's brutally slaughtered. Yes."

"I disagree."

"Do you?"

"I think you're trying to justify the murders you've committed."

"Hmph. I justify nothing."

"Well... I think life just happens. Not like Joker says, of course: I don't think life is Chaos. But, I don't think it's fair. It doesn't matter if you work hard: you can still die alone and unknown. I think that the smartest people suffer the most. Intelligence is a curse, in a world where fear rules everything."

"You believe fear rules everything?"

"All lifeforms, yes."

"And, you like power."

"Is that a question?"

"No. A guess."

"Why?"

"To make sense of things... No reason," the Scarecrow murmured. "Edward, there's a bag on the counter."

"Alright..." Edward obediently fetched the bag. "Am I supposed to look into it?"

"Carefully."

Edward opened the bag, prepared for anything.

"It won't bite."

Cautiously, Edward reached a hand inside, and then he frowned. "Hair?" He pulled out a fistful of dark brown hair. "What is this, Jonathan?"

"I acquired that a while back, after a run-in with the Bat..."

Edward's eyes widened to the size of golfballs. "You don't mean..."

"The next best thing. I have reason to believe that hair belongs to the Boy Wonder."

"You have the Boy Blunder's hair?! Jonathan! Do you realize what you have?"

"Yes, I believe you just stated exactly what I have..."

"How have you not used this to your advantage before now?"

"I haven't had it forever. And, before, it simply would have required more effort than I can spare... That is where you come into the picture."

"You... are... a genius!" Edward grinned, hugging Jonathan's neck.

Jonathan didn't push him away. "Yes, I know. Now, hold onto that, would you?"

"Of course I'll hold onto it!" Edward was beaming to rival the sun. "This could be the key! The key to defeating Batman, once and for all!"

Jonathan glanced at Edward from the corner of his eye, listening, and then he turned back to his work. The smallest hint of a smile flashed across his lips before it vanished. "You have somewhere to be, I believe, Edward."

"What? Oh, yes, shopping - I forgot about that. Harley and Ivy wouldn't... Well, of course I won't tell them. Harley may be a friend, but she and Ivy are both just as eager to off the Batman as you and I are. I won't tell them, then! But, I do have to go shopping... What do we need? Just groceries? No, you need more vials... I'll get some extras. And, I'll try to be quick! I'll be back as soon as I can be, Jonathan!" Edward hugged Jonathan again, then kissed the tip of his ear. "I lo- I will... be back. Be good while I'm gone, Jon! Well, you know, as good as I can expect you to be."

Edward left to put on his shoes and coat. He pocketed his wallet and then waved at the back of Jonathan's head before going through the door. Jonathan had moved to the couch and was lying across it, book open in his hands. "Goodbye, Edward."

The words were short and softspoken, but they made Edward smile, anyway.

Harley and Ivy were waiting in a back alley when Edward arrived. "Good afternoon, ladies. What will we be shopping for today?"

"Whaddaya need, Ed?"

"Just some random groceries and whatnot. Nothing that will be troublesome to fetch."

"Alright! Red 'n I are gonna shop for Valentine's Day stuff!"

"Valentine's Day is still two months away..."

"Not quite! We're runnin' outta time! I gotta get lotsa heart-shaped stuff so's I can show Mistah Jay how much I love 'im!"

"You know, Harley, love actually has nothing to do with the heart. It's all in the brain..."

"Ya think I should make Mistah Jay a valentine that looks like my brain?"

"No, Harley, of course not..." Edward added, under his breath, "You'd never be able to fit any words on it, then." He cleared his throat, continuing at a normal volume, "I'm just saying... The brain is really the organ that deserves most of the respect. Not the heart."

"Well, I know that in theory, Eddie... But, ya just can't understand... When I look at my Puddin', and feel my heart racing... I just know that there's more to it than the brain..."

Edward rolled his eyes. "That's not _love_. That's something _entirely_ different."

Harley either didn't hear or didn't care. "So, are ya gonna help me make Mistah Jay's valentine?"

"Let's just go. I'm not planning on staying out with this foolishness all afternoon long."

"Aw, Eds, ya know you love us!"

Pamela and Edward both shook their heads, but they all walked off to shop for Harley's valentine...

* * *

><p>"I'm <em>home<em>, my dear doctor," Edward announced, sweeping into the apartment. He wasn't surprised when no response was given. The Riddler swung the bags of groceries onto the counter and closed the door behind himself. "You're as talkative as ever, I see. Still reading?" Edward leaned his cane against the wall and started to put away all the items that needed to be refrigerated. He left everything else out on the counter for the moment, deciding to take a few minutes to rest.

But, as he crossed the short distance between the kitchen and the living room, he noticed something a bit odd: a book was lying on the floor, spine-up. The pages were fanned out, bent against the floor. Jonathan was usually much more careful with books... He did love to read, after all.

"Jonathan, did you drop...?" Edward walked over to the side of the couch, where the Scarecrow usually spent his time. It was only then that Edward noticed the broken glass.

The glass doors that led out to the balcony were shattered into pieces, scattered all over the floor. The couch pillows were on the ground, and the coffee table was on its side... But, what made Edward's heart stop were the two small holes in the arm of the couch - right where Jonathan's head had been when Edward had left the apartment.

Oh. No. No, no, no, no, no, no. No.

Instantly, Edward turned and dashed to the bedroom.

A nightstand was upside down; the pillows were everywhere.

There were bullet holes in the walls, and they formed a sort of path to the closet.

And, the closet door was little more than splinters, just barely hanging onto its hinges.

In the closet laid the God of Fear.

"Jonathan...?"

The Scarecrow didn't move a bit. His leg was contorted into an unnatural position. One arm was across his chest, surrounded by - covered by -, a red liquid - fear toxin, it... it _had_ to be fear toxin... The other arm was above his head, reaching for something it would never get to touch... And, his face was finally the face of emotionless immortality that he'd always strived for it to be. No anger, no joy, no hate, no love, and, most importantly, no fear.


	14. Love

And, I promise I shall continue in a much more timely fashion after this.

14. Love

"Eddie...?"

When The Riddler didn't show up for lunch like he'd said he would, Harley Quinn thought that something might be wrong. When he didn't answer his phone, she got a little bit worried. When he didn't answer his phone after she'd finally gotten_ Mistah Jay_ to call, then she _knew_ something bad was going on. _No one_ ignored calls from her Puddin'.

So, as soon as The Joker had hung up the phone after being sent to voicemail, she'd headed straight over to his apartment. She'd knocked on the door a few times, but when no one answered, she'd tried the handle, which twisted the door open quickly. Convenient, maybe... But, more than a little unsettling.

"Eddie...? Eddie... Ed...? Riddles...?" She made her way around the kitchen, toward the bedroom. "Doctah Crane...? Anyone home...?" She stuck her head through the doorway of the bedroom, listening for a response. And, finally, she heard someone... Singing?

"_...as I slept on my pillow,_

_Last night as I slept on my bed..._

_Last night as I slept on my pillow,_

_I dreamt that my Bonnie was dead..._"

Harley tilted her head, walking into the room. "Eddie? You okay?" She took a few steps, following the sound of the rhyme.

"_Bring back, bring back,_

_Oh, bring back my Bonnie to me, to me..._

_Bring back, bring back,_

_Please bring back my Bonnie to me..._"

She found the source of the voice. And, her own voice caught in her throat. On the floor of the closet was a scene that she was nowhere akin to prepared for.

The first thing that caught her attention was the blood. So very. much. blood. Not just a little: there was blood everywhere. It was all over the floor, smeared on the walls, staining pairs of shoes, ruining The Riddler's suit, and almost completely covering the ghastly, skeletal body of the Scarecrow. "...E-e-eddie?"

Edward seemed to hear her finally because he quickly snapped, "Quiet!" Then his voice returned to the soft, airy, half-singing tone it had been during the rhyme. "_You'll wake him..._"

The Clown Princess of Crime watched with horror as Edward cradled the dead body closely to himself. "E-eddie... He's not gonna..."

"_Rock-a-bye, baby, thy cradle is green,_

_Father's a nobleman, mother's a queen..._

_Betty's a lady and wears a gold ring,_

_And, Johnny's a drummer and drums for the king..._"

Harley ran out of the room as quickly as she could, and out of the apartment, and all the way downstairs to the street. She stopped in an alleyway and doubled over, dizzy and confused, and still somehow hearing Edward's voice - but it wasn't Edward. It was a guy covered in blood - brown and red instead of green. Pale and sickly, and... Just... "Red," Harley whispered into her phone. "Red, can you come ta Eddie's...? It's important. Promise..."

The harlequin hung up her cell phone and stared down at the ground. The alley was black and muddy, and it made her want to throw up. Was it the alley? Or, was it the smell of death that still lingered in her nose and the sight of one of her best friends with emptiness in his eyes, and the sound of a voice that wasn't his coming from his mouth, and... Harley hugged herself and closed her eyes, sitting down on the sidewalk.

She'd never dealt well with sadness.

_"You'll wake him..." Oh, Eddie what'd ya do...?_ There was Professah Crane just lying on the floor, and Eddie acting like nothing was wrong, and the thought made her sick and sick and sicker. Yes, Eddie had personality problems, but he'd never... Mistah Jay's problems were so much worse, and he'd never gotten mad enough to... kill her. Little Eddie... And, poor Professah Crane...

"Harley?"

"Oh, Red..."

"What is it? Are you alright?" Poison Ivy knelt next to the harlequin, putting a hand on her shoulder.

"Oh, I ain't the one with the problem, Red... It's Ed..." Harley pulled her knees closer to her chest.

"Riddler? What'd he do?"

Harley sniffled, but no tears came from her eyes. "He was s'posed ta come tuh lunch at noon... When he didn't show I called 'im... An', then I called again... An', he wouldn't ansuh. About fifty minutes ago I got ahold o' one o' Mistah Jay's boys in Arkham and got Mistah Jay ta call... Eddie didn't pick up. So, I came here, an'... Oh, Red, somethin' bad musta happened..."

"Is Riddler in his apartment?"

"Uh-huh..."

"What floor?"

"I dunno... Three, maybe... The door's open..."

"Stay here, Harls. I'll be back."

Ivy stood and walked into the apartment complex, taking the stairs up to the third floor. A door was wide open, with no sign of anyone around it. Cautiously, she stepped inside. "Riddler?"

Ivy paused as she looked to her left and saw that the balcony doors were open, too. She paused again when she realized that they weren't open; they were gone. And, not entirely gone. Just all over the floor. She glanced around quickly before moving around to the bathroom. No sign of any activity... She turned to leave, but then something from the corner of her eye stopped her.

On the mirror. Letters. Letters in red. Red that was surely supposed to look like blood... But, it looked like the work of an amateur. Nothing Riddler, Scarecrow, or any respectable villain in Gotham City would do.

_The rock sticks and the blood splashes_

She stared at it for a moment. A gang motto? Some sort of secret message?

Then Ivy decided she'd work on studying the rest of the place first. Unless she absolutely had to, she preferred not working much with messages like that. That was Riddler's specialty, anyway. If she could find him, he should be able to explain it all.

Gunshot marks on - in - the wall led to the bedroom - easily the worst room she'd seen. More shot-marks, carpet stained in red, furniture everywhere, clock broken, a knife stuck in the wall-border, window half-open, closet door all torn to bits, lying as nothing on the floor... And, from where she stood, she could see two people. Two?

She moved forward slowly, toward the closet, and it became more clear. One. One person. And, a body.

The person was a man, and she could see blackish hair. His eyes were closed and purpled, with dark veins showing through thin, pale skin. Sleeplessness, distress. His lips were stained brownish, that coppery, reddish, brown-ugly color of dried blood. And, that same color stained parts of his neck and his clothes - an awful brownish stain of contrast with bright green fabric.

"Nigma. What happened here?"

A broken voice answered her. "Don't talk. You'll wake him."

"The dead don't wake up. Not like that."

"He will wake up. He's just sleeping."

"There's nothing you can do. He's dead. He's already dead. There's no saving him, now." She held off on her 'good riddance's and 'there was never any saving him's for the sake of partial civility.

"Shut up!"

"Harley's worried about you. Come on. You need to talk to her."

"I won't leave him!"

"He left you. He's left the whole world, now. You can't be with him to leave him. You're holding an empty shell, and there's no point. You can't undo what's been done, Nigma. Let it go."

"Never."

"Fine." Ivy opened one of the chemical compartments in her glove and turned her hand over, kneeling in front of Edward and blowing the chemical softly to create a reaction. The gaseous substance drifted slowly in The Riddler's direction, filling the air around him until he was being lulled into an unexpected sleep.

She turned back to the bedroom, walking over to open a window, and then she made a gesture, pulling a small seed out of her pocket. She kissed it, dropped it, and waited until a large green vine snaked in through the window.

"That's a good baby… Come along… Ivy needs you to pick up the icky green man and take him down to the sidewalk, alright?" She touched the vine, petting it as it made its way into the closet. She cooed patiently as the vine flexed, wrapping itself around The Riddler.

Slowly but surely Edward's body was pulled away from the corpse and transported to the sidewalk below the apartment building.

Ivy stepped back into the closet after Edward was gone, looking for anything that looked decently clean. She scrunched her nose at the smell of dried blood and reached to close the door when she realized again that the door was in pieces. "Someone really had it in for you, huh, Crane?"

The vine returned to the window to take Ivy back down to the ground, and Ivy called for Harley to come around the building.

"Didja figure out what happened, Red? Did Professah Crane say something' stupid - oh, poor Professah Crane!"

"I'm sure he said something stupid. What did Riddler tell you?"

"Nothin'! He was just there cradlin' the professah like- like…"

"Well, someone obviously had it out for Crane. Lots of people probably do. He's lucky to have lived this long, honestly."

"Oh, poor - huh? Ya mean Eds wasn't the one who got 'im?"

"Not unless he's totally snapped, now. Either way, you're going to have to take him back with you. When he wakes up he'll either be calmed down and back to his senses, or he'll try to go on a murderous rampage."

"Ya mean I should be afraida Eddie?"

"Hardly. He's still The Riddler. You might just want to be there for moral support either way. If he decides to go on a rampage, feed him soft, squishy little cubicle-workers so that he can feel the satisfaction of killing some people, at least. And, try to steer him away from gang leaders and the like, unless you want to see him get himself killed."

"Don'tcha worry, Red… I'll nurse Riddles back to health. I promise! He'll be good as new… He's gotta be. He's gotta be, right? I can't imagine what it'd be like to not have Ed around anymore! It'd be like… That reform stuff all over again! I can't even think about it!"

"Don't be so dramatic, Harls. I'm sure it'll be okay."

"If you say so, Red…"

"Call me if you need anything, Harley." Ivy stared straight into Harley's soft blue eyes, and the clown-girl sniffled and nodded.

"Thanks, Red. I just gotta get Eddie home for now. Then see what happens when he wakes up…"

Harley laid Edward out on the couch when she got home, and she moved Bud and Lou to the bedroom so they wouldn't disturb him. Then she sat in a chair and watched him.

It was about three in the morning when Harley woke up to the sound of movement, and she just saw The Riddler turn slightly, eyes barely open. He looked at her, sadly. "I'm not at home."

"No, Eds…" Harley rubbed her eyes. "I broughtcha here…"

"Where's Jon…?"

"Professah Crane's…"

"…Then it wasn't just the fear toxin…"

"I'm sorry, Eddie…"

"I'm sorry, Harley."

"For what?"

"For every mean or pretentious thing I ever said about you."

"What…?"

"About you and… Joker. I'm sorry."

"Eds, yer startin' tuh sound a little… crazy…"

"There's no such thing as sanity," Edward said quickly, mindlessly. "But, I am sorry, Harley. I just never knew how it felt."


End file.
